CHAPTER THIRTY
The next morning Nash found his father sitting in the breakfast room. Mac had already started and was halfway through the big American breakfast. Nash looked over toward the kitchen door just as Mrs. Marshall brought Mac a fresh mug of tea.
“Morning, Mr. Nash. Same as yesterday?” she asked, wearing that sickly smile.
“Yes, thank you,” Nash replied as he took a seat in the chair opposite Mac.
Mac was reading the paper and slurping his hot tea.
“Morning, Pa. Sleep, okay?” Nash asked.
“Aye, slept like a baby,” Mac said before taking another sip from the mug. “You venturin’ out in this, then?” Mac asked, pointing to the window and the downpour.
“Got to, got a job to do,” Nash said. They both turned toward the kitchen just as Mrs. Marshall burst through the door. She held
