27Lambert took the receiver from Sinclair's grip. “Yes?”
“It's me, bonny lad.”
Lambert closed his eyes. Talking to Miles right now was not his idea of fun. Perhaps he sighed too loudly; Miles sounded pissed off. “Not happy to hear from me?”
“Nothing of the sort, Miles, I'm just a little—”
“Strung out, hung over, filled with remorse?”
“None of the above.”
“Sinclair tells me you look like shit.”
Lambert c****d an eyebrow in the manservant's direction. Sinclair reddened and turned away. “He always did have an eye for such things.”
“You mean he's observant?”
“I mean he knows a lot about shit.” He gazed out of the window. The sky was darkening. A storm brewing perhaps. “What do you want, Miles?”
“You'll never guess who I bumped into this morning.”
“Er, let me think … Henry Kissinger?
