AFTER LLEWELLYN AND Maureen’s wedding, Rafferty, full of good cheer and Jameson’s whiskey, had persuaded them to meet up with him on their return from honeymoon. After all, as he had jovially reminded them, he had a vested interest in their marriage. Without him there might never have been a wedding.
Now, with so much on his mind, Rafferty wished he had kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t feeling too sociable just now—in fact, he had turned into more of a shrinking violet than he had been for a large chunk of the dating agency’s first party, scared, every time he ventured beyond the station that he would attract the pointing finger and the accusation, ‘but that’s him. That’s Nigel Blythe.’
But Llewellyn, punctilious about such tentative arrangements as he was about everything else, rang him o
