Hilda rolled her eyes. “Be my guest.”
Constantine reached for a slice of sponge cake, coated in chocolate and scattered with honeycomb pieces. He patted his substantial stomach, chuckling and grinning as he did so. “The question is, of course, if we’re going to proceed with this, who the best person to put forward might be?”
There was a long, languishing silence. No one seemed especially keen either to offer themselves up like a lamb to the s*******r, or to recommend anyone else in the room. Constantine swallowed his mouthful of cake and said, “Alright then, I propose we go round the room in turn. Don’t be shy. Does anyone want to volunteer? Clarissa?”
Clarissa rested her pen on her open notebook, her packet of sunflower seeds perched precariously on the arm of the settee, and shook her
