“Nice house,” said Chaise, dropping his digital camera back into its case.
“Thanks,” Alex, at the bar, poured himself a glass of orange juice. “Would you like some?”
Smiling, Chaise said he would and, accepting the drink, downed it with relish. Pure, freshly squeezed, it tasted delicious.
Alex gestured towards the camera. “I’ve always believed that photographs of Spanish houses never do them justice.”
Smacking his lips, Chaise carefully placed the empty glass on the worktop. Both men stood in the enormous kitchen, with its clean lines and bespoke units. Very modern, classy, and expensive. “In what way?”
“Interiors always look cramped, lived in. I’ve seen photographs of unmade beds, kitchens with pots and pans in the sink, tables still covered with the remnants of meals.” He shook his
