“It’s in Leicestershire,” Lara offered. “It’s in the, not the north.”
“Ah, but is it north of the Watford Gap?” Paul grimaced when Lara nodded. He gave a dramatic shiver. “It’s still off the social grid. I went north once.” His tone inferred an expedition through a desert tundra. “I couldn’t understand a word anyone said.”
“Where did you go?” Lara followed him out of the lift and followed him past the first of many exhibitions. She already knew the answer, but Paul loved the telling of his tale. She nodded in all the right places as Paul recounted a dreadful weekend in Northampton. A thirty-minute train ride from London, he told it like he’d crawled on his hands and knees from the borders of Scotland.
Lara struggled with her heavy bag, banging it against her calves and making her tired.
