Over breakfast, Daniel waited for Müller to finish setting down the teapot and plates of toast, then watched him leave the room. Leaning forward, he whispered urgently to his aunty.
“I haven"t got time. He"ll be back soon. Please, just listen…”
Aunty Flo had always seemed an intelligent woman; she worked as a personal assistant to some important businessman in London and had a mass of responsibilities. She was organized, efficient and industrious. Nevertheless, her face almost instantly creased into a deep frown. “Daniel,” she began, nibbling at a piece of hot buttered toast, “if this is one of those stories that your father used to tell me you are so fond of making up, then—”
“Please, Aunty Flo…” he quickly checked the door, closed it, and came back to his seat. “ I"ve been hearing noi
