Chapter Nine
Matthew smiled down at the blonde huddled beside him. ‘Another pint, Harriet?’
‘Yes, please!’ Harriet looped her arm through Matthew’s, surveyed the bar and grimaced. ‘Looks like you’ll be waiting a while, Matt.’
Adopting a voice that sounded indulgent and elderly, Matthew said, ‘Now don’t you go troubling your pretty little head about that. Find something to amuse you while I’m queuing.’
Playing along, Harriet gave an exaggeratedly juvenile nod, skipped on the spot and drifted off to find a table.
Charles Gloucester, a man in his nineties, had been fond of the phrase ‘Don’t you go troubling your pretty little head.’ He’d addressed Harriet this way a number of times. Harriet had ultimately asserted, ‘I’m not troubled Mr Gloucester, just eager to learn of these documents y
