“Director’s privileges.” Something coils inside me. “Sit down, Georgie. Make yourself comfortable. Let me take your coat.” She sits but doesn’t remove her jacket.
Her eye wanders my office again then settles on my desk. “You have my photo.”
“Did you think I wouldn't?”
“It's a bit old.”
“It's the only one I have. Your mother kept all the family memorabilia.”
Francis knocks then bustles in with a tray. “Malted milk as you asked, James.”
“Thank you, Francis.” I bustle, stirring the tea, pouring a little milk into the cups, then push the plate of biscuits to Georgie.
She pushes the plate back. “I don’t eat biscuits, Dad. Empty calories…” She pats a lean hip.
“Wouldn’t do you any harm. You inherited my shape.”
She nods at that, but the movement is awkward.
“So…” I hand her cup and sau
