“Got any holidays planned?”
Dennis paused, drew breath, then: “No, not really.” Inevitably: “You?”
“Somewhere warm; somewhere not chosen by my husband.”
He thought a while, and though the meeting she was driving him to ought to have been his focus, she’d caught his interest by hinting at some unforgivable error on her husband’s part. She needed no bidding.
“Last time, he booked us into a cottage in the middle of nowhere in Ireland. He spent all day fishing, and me reading.”
Dennis narrowed his eyes.
“Was the weather bad?”
“It was blue sky horizon to horizon every day. I guess if it had been rainy he might’ve got fed up and we’d have abandoned it for somewhere better.”
Perhaps the cottage had been a bit basic?
“It was a lovely place, big and warm and airy. The kitchen was on the large side, and over-stocked if you ask me, but we ate out most evenings so that didn’t matter much.”
“What were the people like?”
“Oh they were really friendly. They’d bend over backwards to help.”
“So … what exactly was wrong with the holiday?”
“It was at least 20 miles to the shops, and no big stores like you might get in a city.”
Shifting his briefing pack, Dennis found a scrap of paper.
“Whereabouts did you say this was?”
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