Chapter Eleven
Lambert
Over eight thousand miles away from where Rajiv Singh sat at his computer pondering his future, the unknowing object of those musings was sat outside a pub in the fishing village he usually steered clear of, sipping a pint. His nearness to the sea and the sound of waves gently lapping against the harbour walls making no headway with the despondency they were usually so successful in banishing.
Or at least diluting.
Bernard Lambert’s current mood, however, was made of sterner stuff. For, though he put it differently to himself –ego based denial a powerful mitigator- his decision to get out of the house owed more to a need to escape the proximity of his young housekeeper than any need for a warm lager in a tatty public house.
Mind-numbingly banal conversation of t
