10
At breakfast the next morning, Slim judged that Mrs. Greyson was in a good mood, so he called her over. At his request, the whistling that had drifted from the kitchen like the song of an aging but joyful bird abruptly died, and she stomped over, wringing her apron as though to remind Slim of the inconvenience he had dared to cause.
‘Mr. Hardy … I trust everything is to your liking?’
He smiled, prodding the plate with a fork. ‘Of course. These eggs remind me of my long-dead mother and the culinary delights I was subjected to on a daily basis.’
‘That’s … good. How can I help you today?’
‘Yesterday I went up to Trelee. I got a little lost on the moor, but an old lady was kind enough to offer me directions. I wanted to send her a note of thanks, but I’m afraid I forgot her name.’
‘An
