ELEVEN
Steve parked the Mitsubishi in the drive, got out and stretched. The day was done, so were the accounts. Almost as soon as he’d emailed them across to Brigit, her reply came back, gushing, ‘Oh, this is wonderful. You’ve worked so hard. Take Monday off. I will introduce you to everyone on Tuesday.’
Small compensation for how he felt that moment: drained.
No one was home. A hastily scrawled note informed him Samantha had gone to fetch the girls from the party, and perhaps he could go and say ‘hello’ to the neighbour, as he was expected. Steve groaned, found a half-empty bottle of whisky in one of the kitchen cupboards and poured himself a measure. He’d shower first, then tramp up the hill and do his duty.
A huge man opened the door, so black his features were difficult to pick out
