Chapter Five Jago threw down his newspaper on to the breakfast table. ‘I told you so,’ he said abruptly to Ivo, who was drowsily eating a piece of toast. Jago put his hands behind his head and stretched. Ivo looked at the newspaper, which told him it was a Monday morning. The basement kitchen was warm, and Ivo was huddled in his dressing gown. He’d spent all of Sunday in a kind of trance, pootling around his room, watching films, and resting, and he still didn’t feel quite right. He hadn’t spoken to Felix or Miranda, or received any communication from them, and he desperately wanted to see them. ‘Apocalypse now!’ said the headline. ‘A little over-dramatic,’ said Jago, ‘but quite close to the mark. The economy is in serious trouble. There’ll be worse headlines soon, you can bet.’ He sounded, to Ivo, almost pleased, as if he were relishing the situation. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you know sometimes I wonder what the point of it all is.’ He stood up, immaculate in his suit, his hair slicked back, only the bags under his eyes hinting at any stress he might be under.
