9
Afternoon Tea
Gregg stood tall in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up a pair of hairy forearms.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked him.
Before Gregg could explain, Peter introduced us. “Lorna, I’d like you to meet Agent Danby.”
“We’ve met before,” Danby said, in an accent much like Peter’s. A world away from the Essex-boy twang he spoke with in the Manchester cafe.
“So your name’s not Gregg?” I asked.
“It’s Charlie,” he said.
“And you’re not an internet geezer?”
“Not exactly,” Danby said.
“Agent Danby was assigned to check up on you and your friends,” Peter said. “After the incidents in Manchester and Berlin, we started to do some digging.”
“Took us a little while to catch up,” Danby said.
“But once we did,”
