Below him in the pews of St Mark’s was a respectable turnout of forty to fifty bodies. The onus was all upon his shoulders, for Michael Ash would have no eulogist today, no schoolyard mate or kind colleague to tell a benign story or summon up some other felt tribute. That ...
On reaching Court Six he found a lone figure peering wryly back through the glass at him – Lord Waugh, a hairy-kneed sexagenarian with the craggy look of a matinee idol from Blaylock’s parents’ era, one who might have played Heathcliff and Hamlet before settling into middle-age and saturnine vill...