Farzana pulls up at the bus stop opposite the Anne Boleyn and looks round, bewildered. She’s probably never noticed this old building, driven past a thousand times on her way to the coffee shop and the Islamic bookshop, never seen this public house with its living, breathing history.
Hook is about to get out when he remembers his manners.
“Look, do you fancy a drink?”
“Pardon?”
Seeing the look of puzzlement on Farzana’s face Hook has to backtrack his words to make sure he hasn’t requested some sordid sexual favour.
“A drink. This is a nice little pub.”
“Me, in a pub? I don’t think so, do you?”
“No.” He regards her sadly. “You’re right. Look, I’ll see you back at the office. If anyone asks I’m chasing a story. In fact – don’t go back yet, go shopping. Go wherever you go when you have free time. I’ll see you about three.”
Farzana looks at him with appalling fear in her eyes. She’s a slave, reflects Hook: a slave to economics, but then who isn’t? Farzana shifts into first, then looks at him. “Won’t Karen wonder where I am?”
“If she rings, you’re with me. Okay?”
Farzana shrugs unreadably and Hook wonders what he’d done now. The new codes, the new details: he can’t read anything anymore. The laws of physics have been rewritten, the constitution revised without his knowledge, let alone consent.
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