Chapter 22
It was hardly a club that Henry took George to, more like a pub of the kind to be found in the sleazier parts of London. The drinkers were mostly Chinese business men. Trading in tin, Henry said. Four British men sat under the only fan that worked, their faces red and shiny. One with a dark moustache and a few strands of hair pulled across his balding head glanced up at them as they walked across the room. A smile creased his face, and he lifted his rolled newspaper in greeting.
George looked around while Henry ordered the drinks. The wallpaper was embossed, but peeling in parts and faded, as if tired of putting on a show. And the carpet was deep crimson, stained black at the edges where some buff lino had been laid bordering the bar. Despite the dilapidation of the building,
