11
‘Did you hear about Jack Styles?’
‘No, what?’
‘He drowned…’
‘No…?’
Bong nodded, sadly, sagely, and Grace saw the clockwork mechanism working behind the gentle face.
‘You don’t think it was an accident. Do you think…?’
The waiter sidled up, soliciting their order. Grace had the Caesar salad and Bong spaghetti Bolognese, his imagination running riot and hoping his adventurous choice of dish would impress Grace; the restaurant didn’t do egg and chips or spaghetti hoops on toast. The waiter departed after giving Bong a condescending smile that almost broke his stolid, Mussolini face; whatever happened to the Italian love of romance, Bong thought, not realising Grace and he did not give off anything to suggest they were romantically engaged. It was business as usual, apart from the od
