SEBASTIAN KENNEDY AND Simon Fairweather were in the pub in the village when they got there. When Rafferty and Llewellyn had got their drinks and ordered their lunch, Rafferty asked if they could join them at their table.
‘If you must,’ said Sebastian Kennedy, the rebellious pig-hater, as he sat back and gave them an insolent, challenging stare.
‘Charming as ever, I see,’ said Rafferty as he sat down.
‘That’s the glory of being rich, Inspector. It allows a man to be as rude as he likes and there’s no comeback. No one’s going to sack you or refuse to employ you. No one’s going to tear you off a strip or give you a bad work assessment or try to put you down. And it doesn’t much matter if they do. Money’s a great comforter.’
‘I can imagine,’ said Rafferty dryly, as he thought of the super.
