CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The kettle whistled and Rachel picked it up to pour boiling water into the tea pot.
“Brilliant,” Aubrey said, entering the kitchen in his running gear, a brown paper bag in his hand. “Hot meat pies for a late lunch. Steak and cracked pepper, with lashings of tomato sauce. Sorry, ketchup. I know, I know. We’ll go vegan tonight to make up for all our evil eating ways.”
They settled in the courtyard, slivers of afternoon sunlight reflecting off the upper windows down onto the flagstones. Aubrey toed off his runners then hit the bottom of the bottle, sloshing ketchup over his pie. Rachel followed his lead. “Twinings and Heinz,” he said pointing at the tea and sauce. “Both ‘by appointment to Her Majesty the Queen.’ Can’t get any more British than this. And the pies are from
