Chapter 13
John jumped, turning away from the window he’d been staring out of for a long while now at a touch on his arm. Fiona was making the rounds with a bottle of Welsh whisky.
“Creoso, John, lovely to see you, dear!”
“Prynhawn da, Fiona,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
“Did you have a good rest? You still look tired, but I do like the beard.”
Rest? He’d been pleased to not only remember it was afternoon on this side of the Atlantic, but to come up with the correct words right away.
What was he missing now?
Unsure what she meant, he smiled, then shook his head when she tried to add whisky to his cold coffee.
“Is she not back yet?” Fiona said.
“No.”
“Well, it’s not quite lunch time yet. I’m quite sure she’ll be back shortly.”
She bustled off, having much better luck
