these East European criminals. Not my finest hour and something that has made me think a lot about what the hell Iâm doing with my life.â
The underlying thought at the back of David Hutchinsonâs mind surfaced at last.
âOK, Davidâ â she was thoughtful â âso youâre not happy with what you do any more; what are you going to do about it?â
âI just wonder whether there was something ⦠some injustice ⦠I could right some wrong, do a book ⦠I donât know. All I know is I donât want to write about and photograph dead bodies, sick children, ravaged villages any more.â
The tram was passing through the sort of countryside that was familiar to David from childhood. For Susie, who had spent her whole life within the broad confines of Greater London, the lushness was unfamiliar and very welcome.
After the burst of intense conversation they lapsed into silence once more and took in the further views around them. But it wasnât quite the same relaxed, untroubled silence as before.
David Hutchinson felt disturbed. Susieâs reaction passed himby but she seemed almost pleased that he was apparently ready for some new and different challenge.
The rest of the day passed.
The mood was better in the evening. David had made enquiries at the guesthouse about the whereabouts of a good country pub. For someone with a vast wealth of experience in living and eating in a staggering range of countries and places, the English country pub had become something of a Holy Grail for him. A major part of their trip was about sampling traditional English pubs.
âGreat ideaâ was Susieâs response to Davidâs suggestion for their evening.
Branscombe had been suggested.
The meal was every bit as good as the guesthouse owner had predicted. The conversation drifted, as neither wanted to revert to the discussions about the dead body in the sea. And inevitably, as they drifted, they took in childhood, school, university and their upbringing in general. Both were cautious, even coy, at first until they realised that the lessons of their childhood were the same for both of them, despite their vastly differing backgrounds.
âOverbearing fathers with no more ambition than our following in their footsteps come what may.â
Susieâs summary seemed to David to exactly fit his situation.
It was a warm evening and the food had been good. The strictly limited amount of wine drunk had also been good. The single malt was for later back at the guesthouse. Both were now fully relaxed again and savouring the sort of peacefulness that they had hoped for.
âI reckon,â Susie finally said, âthereâs a story somewhere in both our backgrounds. Maybe more so in yours since a poor little rich girl in token revolt isnât as good a tale as a poor little poor guy totally breaking free of his background.â
Davidâs chuckle said that he agreed and that he was in no way put out by the characterisation.
Back at the guesthouse David produced the bottle of single malt whisky. The guesthouse terrace overlooked the sea; it was an obvious place for a nightcap.
It was then that the insistent vibration of Davidâs Black-Berry in his jacket pocket caught his attention.
âWhat?â Susie repeated as David read the email.
Later, David realised that she knew what the email was going to say.
âSusie, your secretary is inviting me to a meeting with you!â
9
Hong Kong Airport was new, vast and luxurious and its shops and services were definitely beyond the means of all but a few Chinese, although in the new China this number was increasing rapidly. The international terminal was the last word in spaciousness, in layout and facilities, and in its scope for people-watching.
Everything was clean, even excessively so, well tended and customer-friendly in a way that virtually no other airport terminal in the world seemed to be. It
The underlying thought at the back of David Hutchinsonâs mind surfaced at last.
âOK, Davidâ â she was thoughtful â âso youâre not happy with what you do any more; what are you going to do about it?â
âI just wonder whether there was something ⦠some injustice ⦠I could right some wrong, do a book ⦠I donât know. All I know is I donât want to write about and photograph dead bodies, sick children, ravaged villages any more.â
The tram was passing through the sort of countryside that was familiar to David from childhood. For Susie, who had spent her whole life within the broad confines of Greater London, the lushness was unfamiliar and very welcome.
After the burst of intense conversation they lapsed into silence once more and took in the further views around them. But it wasnât quite the same relaxed, untroubled silence as before.
David Hutchinson felt disturbed. Susieâs reaction passed himby but she seemed almost pleased that he was apparently ready for some new and different challenge.
The rest of the day passed.
The mood was better in the evening. David had made enquiries at the guesthouse about the whereabouts of a good country pub. For someone with a vast wealth of experience in living and eating in a staggering range of countries and places, the English country pub had become something of a Holy Grail for him. A major part of their trip was about sampling traditional English pubs.
âGreat ideaâ was Susieâs response to Davidâs suggestion for their evening.
Branscombe had been suggested.
The meal was every bit as good as the guesthouse owner had predicted. The conversation drifted, as neither wanted to revert to the discussions about the dead body in the sea. And inevitably, as they drifted, they took in childhood, school, university and their upbringing in general. Both were cautious, even coy, at first until they realised that the lessons of their childhood were the same for both of them, despite their vastly differing backgrounds.
âOverbearing fathers with no more ambition than our following in their footsteps come what may.â
Susieâs summary seemed to David to exactly fit his situation.
It was a warm evening and the food had been good. The strictly limited amount of wine drunk had also been good. The single malt was for later back at the guesthouse. Both were now fully relaxed again and savouring the sort of peacefulness that they had hoped for.
âI reckon,â Susie finally said, âthereâs a story somewhere in both our backgrounds. Maybe more so in yours since a poor little rich girl in token revolt isnât as good a tale as a poor little poor guy totally breaking free of his background.â
Davidâs chuckle said that he agreed and that he was in no way put out by the characterisation.
Back at the guesthouse David produced the bottle of single malt whisky. The guesthouse terrace overlooked the sea; it was an obvious place for a nightcap.
It was then that the insistent vibration of Davidâs Black-Berry in his jacket pocket caught his attention.
âWhat?â Susie repeated as David read the email.
Later, David realised that she knew what the email was going to say.
âSusie, your secretary is inviting me to a meeting with you!â
9
Hong Kong Airport was new, vast and luxurious and its shops and services were definitely beyond the means of all but a few Chinese, although in the new China this number was increasing rapidly. The international terminal was the last word in spaciousness, in layout and facilities, and in its scope for people-watching.
Everything was clean, even excessively so, well tended and customer-friendly in a way that virtually no other airport terminal in the world seemed to be. It
Similar Books
