At his riverside apartment, Briggs opened the front door and climbed the narrow stairs. He called Kate’s name two or three times as he strode through to the sitting room, but the only movement that met his eye was outside the window: the river traffic. The sight always filled him with pride at owning a property with a splendid view giving a sense of the passing centuries. The River Thames, a paradox of constant change and permanence, bustling with vessels of various sizes. David Briggs stood at the picture window and gazed down at the water. It was simple to imagine narrow-beamed Anglo-Saxon sailing ships moored to a wooden quay with longhaired, bearded sailors, cloaks around tunics, swords at the side, setting about various duties. Briggs smiled, if he could step back in time, he wouldn’t
