Riptide (aka Bluffing Mr. Churchill) - Plot & Excerpts
He was more than partial to thick giblet soup, the toughness of gizzard held no fear for him and stuffed, roast heart no symbol. When he could get it – when his wife had queued half a morning to get it – he loved liver slices fried in breadcrumbs – but most of all he adored to start the day with grilled mutton kidneys, faintly piss-tanged to the palate – a breakfast, if not fit for a king, then sweetly fit for a Chief Inspector of the London Metropolitan Police Force. He moved softly about the kitchen. It had been light since before five and first light woke him better than any alarm clock. Tangible light in the basement room, the promise of the heat of the day beyond its windows. Summer mornings such as this made him peckish. He’d eat his plate of grilled kidneys, washed down with strong, sweet, milky tea, silently reading last night’s evening paper. And when he had done he would pad about the kitchen in his socks, shirtless, the braces hanging down his back like the reins of some giant and unruly toddler, making tea and toast for his wife.
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