9 Home is Where the Heart isPaul Clay sat contentedly in the converted farmhouse study - the transition from plastic and chrome stateside to rustic and tarnished Britain somehow calming the neurosis that had led to his exit from the FBI. The serene fields of crops beyond the window drew Clay’s gaze like a magnet. I should have done this years ago, he thought with regret as he fought to obscure intrusive, horrific images from his past.
‘f**k! My tea!’ Clay shouted, remembering the pot of PG Tips that had been stewing for over ten minutes.
Clay jumped up from his desk and ran to the kitchen. Grabbing the teapot, he poured the double strength fluid into a quintessentially English tea cup before depositing a few drops of milk into the murky brown fluid.
‘Perfect!’ he exclaimed, sipping the
