Since Joseph had the night off, Tom greeted his own guests at the door while Dale stood beside him holding a tray laden with glasses of champagne for the guests to take as they entered. Dale’s heart was pounding. He hoped that Tom did not expect him to speak. It would be just like him to say something stupid, or drop the drinks and embarrass them both. If he could just smile and hold the tray steady, he would consider the job as having been well done.
“Good evening. So glad you could make it.” Tom’s tone was jovial. His Cheshire smile a little extravagant. “Dale, this is Mr Paul O’Connor (late forties, a thick moustache and cropped salt and pepper hair) and Mr Graham Matthews (tall, about forty-five, a dark tan and capped teeth).
The introductions continued. Dale knew there was little to
