Jigsaw
“This hostility was rooted in the relationship between Britain and the United States; while the former had shrunk in worldly significance, Wesker thought the latter imagined itself a strutting global policeman, the planet’s bully-boy. The Home Secretary, a man with a Lancashire accent and horn-rimmed glasses, tried to suppress an assortment of resentments. His working-class background, the way he pronounced his vowels, the fact he felt drab in contrast to the well-dressed William Caan – these matters grieved him.
George Nimmo, who sat facing the two men at a table in the Home Secretary’s club – an oak-panelled room festooned with artless oil paintings of former members who’d achieved some kind of fame, notoriety, or total obscurity – seemed totally at ease with the Ambassador, a fact Wesker ascribed rather grudgingly to Nimmo’s expensive education. George would be comfortable around men of power, of course. It was a class thing.
The Home Secretary scratched his head and flakes of dandr...uff showered the shoulders of his jacket.MoreLess
George Nimmo, who sat facing the two men at a table in the Home Secretary’s club – an oak-panelled room festooned with artless oil paintings of former members who’d achieved some kind of fame, notoriety, or total obscurity – seemed totally at ease with the Ambassador, a fact Wesker ascribed rather grudgingly to Nimmo’s expensive education. George would be comfortable around men of power, of course. It was a class thing.
The Home Secretary scratched his head and flakes of dandr...uff showered the shoulders of his jacket.MoreLess
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