The whisky was a single malt that had spent a large part of the past two decades in a dark cellar in the Scottish Highlands. Her glass was crystal and lived in her suitcase. Winter’s tumbler was plastic and she’d found it in the bathroom. This was the reason she carried her own glass. Drinking a whisky like this from plastic was criminal.After what had happened back at Miles Devlin’s apartment she wasn’t in the mood for whisky. However, after the sort of day she’d had she needed a drink and, right now, her need for alcohol trumped the flashbacks. Winter had pulled a seat up to the bed. His shoes were off and he was sitting there with his toes wedged into the gap between the mattress and the frame. She passed him the plastic tumbler.‘Sip, don’t gulp.’Winter looked suspiciously into the tumbler. ‘Have you got any Coke? 7 Up? Ice?’‘No way. That would be sacrilege.’He took a tentative sip and wrinkled his nose. ‘It definitely needs Coke.’‘You know, Jefferson, you might like classical music and be well educated, but you can be a real Neanderthal sometimes.’Yoko kicked off her shoes and got comfortable on the bed.
