“Rory Peel’s life was ordered by omens and he had only been up briefly when he realized that all the signs were negative. Twentyman Communications down a point and a quarter. Kosher Beef-Frye burnt. His father wanted to see him. Constipation. First licence plate he saw ended with an odd number. Then Michele summoned him back to the kitchen and handed him the foul-smelling parcel. ‘Oh – sorry – forgot.’ The day at the office, clouded by the duty to be done, had been a waste. He had been unnecessa...rily rude to Miss Stainsby and he could have been more enthusiastic on the phone with Snipes. Yet getting drunk won’t help, he thought. In the end I’m going to have to take the parcel, walk in there alone in front of all those people, and return it. Rory called for the waiter. ‘Another Scotch. A double.’ ‘Yes, sir, Mr Peel. Right away.’ Rory Peel lived in an enormous ranch-style house overlooking the ravine with his wife, Michele, and three plump, well-adjusted children: Neil, Valery, and Garth.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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