Cerys:
Christopher Callaghan had many obvious similarities with his son. A thicker accent, maybe, but they stood at almost the same height, the older man ever so slightly thicker around the middle than his son. He wore a pale blue shirt rolled to the elbow and dark grey suit trousers, both of which were undoubtedly tailored just for him.
'What are ya doing here.' Christopher's eyes never left his son. He sounded impatient and irritable. I may as well not have been there, the way his cold blue eyes trained solidly on his boy.
'I need to talk to you Chris. It's about Lasseter.'
Chris. It said everything to me that he hadn't used a more informal moniker.
His father turned on his polished heels, moving away from the door and into the grand entrance hall. Trent cupped his hand around my
