I called the Dorchester, I waited while the call was placed to his room; it was only then that the thought occurred to me that he and his wife might be still in bed (as it was lunchtime, they were on their honeymoon, and there was only so much sightseeing that any sane person could […]
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On honey [a blurry mess]. Very happy. Meet the missus. Little Dick. My eyes fixed on the words honey and missus; they presaged only one possible awful possibility: my brother Richard had married and had decided to come to Europe to introduce his wife. It was the grandest of grand tours. “Dear God,” I uttered
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I sat dozing on my armchair; high above me, hidden in the branches of one of the cypress trees, a hummingbird called. I drifted back to my childhood, and the sound of a wood pigeon in my grandfather’s garden one summer evening. I was content. Then the telephone rang. The telephone network in this part
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