The dinner meeting had been a success: he had commanded the conversation and had done some of the best convincing, negotiating, and entertaining he’d ever done. They’d laughed at his jokes, all his best ones, and they’d hung on his every word. All the gentlemen had left the table content and in full agreement. He’d shared a final drink with an equally jubilant Alfred before driving home. The lights in the downstairs rooms were out, but they were all on upstairs, despite this late hour, bright enough to help land a plane. He stepped inside, into the blackness. Ruth usually left the entrance-hall lamp on, and he felt around the walls for the light switch. There was an ominous smell in the air. “Hello?” he called. His voice echoed three flights up to the skylight in the roof. The house was a mess, not the usual tidiness that greeted him when he came home. Toys were scattered around the floor. He tutted. “Hello?” He made his way upstairs. “Ruth?” He waited for her shushing to break the silence, but it didn’t.
