CHAPTER SEVENTEENThey moored out in the wild the following night, a guilty economy on Colin’s part, which in no way compensated for the insane extravagance of their three star supper. Forests of silver birch flickered right down to the river bank and they had a job to tie up amongst all the reeds and nettles.
Even tinned cassoulet for two, a couple of bruised pears and the end of a baguette managed to seem like a feast. They ate in a scattering of shade to the subtle song of unseen insects, with the salt smell of a distant bonfire in their nostrils and a pencil line of wood smoke tracing across the sky.
Colin extracted his one cigarette of the day from its flattened packet. It had snapped just below the filter, but he lit it anyway. “Fancy a game of cards?” he asked out of the corner of
