D amp; C Ltd were housed in the ground floor of a Victorian building. They shared with a solicitor, an accountancy practice, a chiropodist and two architects.
Jack would have preferred to have just slipped in that morning, shut himself away. No chance. Villiers had an office where he could keep his clubs and his wet weather anoraks and leggings. The business manager had his own territory. Nicholas Villiers and Jack and the two secretaries shared what had once been the ground floor drawing room.
The girls and Nicholas Villiers stared at him, like he looked awful.
"Been on the piss, have we?" Villiers asked loudly. Janice giggled, Lucille dropped her head.
"Didn't have a very good night," Jack muttered.
He'd had a tossing, nightmarish, sweating night.
He'd nicked his right side nostril with his razor.
He'd missed breakfast.
"You look pretty rough."
"Didn't sleep much."
"Not got the 'flu?"
Hadn't been on the piss, hadn't got the 'flu, only problem was that his father was going to hang. Nothing else was wrong.
"I'm fine, thanks, just didn't sleep much last night."
Only problem was that his father was going to kick it on the end of a rope with a load of crap-arse foreigners around him, with no one of his own around him.
The girls were all eyes on him. He was a good dresser, took care of himself. Wasn't every day that Jack Curwen looked as though he'd slept in a hedge. He thought they both fancied him, but they were too close to base. No future in a typists' pool relationship. Best keeping the ladies separate from work. And he was on the rebound anyway.