said Slocock to Wax. “You know, come to an arrangement over subsidised G and T’s in the Strangers Bar. Thrash out a deal without one or other of us resorting to bodyline bowling.” “It’s midday,” Wax said. “I never drink before evening. I have standards.” “Then we’ll just have to do it sober in this ratty little office of yours. Funny, I thought Cabinet ministers got grander cubbyholes to work in than the rest of us.” “The senior ones do. Sunless Affairs is very much a junior post.” “Ah well. Decent view, though. Way better than mine.” The Thames stretched outside the narrow windows, with Lambeth Palace and the London Eye dominating the opposite bank. A rubbish barge was chuntering by along the turbulent brown water, taking its cargo to some recycling centre, or to a dumping ground in the North Sea—Slocock didn’t much care which. “So, I’ve asked you nicely, Maurice,” he said. “And I’ve told you that Nathaniel Lambourne can go hang,” came the reply.
