Chapter Sixteen
As they waited for Maureen to answer the receptionist’s call, Rafferty practised his spiel in his head, determined not to let Mo make him feel lower than a three-toed sloth, as she usually did. Such determination lasted no longer than Maureen’s first appearance.
She was wearing thick, navy tights—was she taking the Mickey with the blue-stocking garb, playing up to her blue-stocking image?
She greeted Llewellyn with a smile and a kiss. There was no such welcome for him.
‘Joseph.’ She looked coolly at him. ‘I wondered when you’d get around to interviewing me.’
‘Pressure of work,’ Rafferty said quickly, using an excuse that had grown whiskers. ’You know how it is.’
She raised her eyebrows, said, ‘Really?’, and informed him crisply, that he wasn’t the only one with a diff
