she seemed suddenly old and frail as she drew off her gloves.
She sat down on the low sofa which stood against one wall of the room beneath a colourful display of some of Franklyn-Greerson’s artwork. ‘I want to talk to you about Sam,’ she said without preamble.
Nick closed the office door carefully and leaned against it. ‘What about Sam?’ he asked.
‘How do you think he is?’
‘Fine. Sam has never been ill in his life as you well know.’
‘I don’t mean physically, Nick.’ She fiddled with the clasp of her handbag.
‘Then what do you mean exactly?’ Eyebrows raised, Nick sat down beside her and reached for one of her hands. ‘What is this all about?’
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