The Players
“Keith’s town house in the super-fashionable residential section of Belgravia. He had gotten just close enough to Geneva to stir his blood, and being called away had left him badly frustrated.
When the maid ushered him into the sitting room, Mrs. Keith was already having tea. Seated next to her on the sofa was a languid young man with glossy hair and soft, pouty lips. He sat with his knees pressed together as he carried on an animated conversation.
As Yuri entered the room Mrs. Keith looked up a...nd smiled. “Ah, Yuri, there you are. Lyle dear, this is the young man I told you about.”
Lyle Coombes turned from his conversation, and for a moment his eyes stabbed intently into Yuri’s. Yuri knew the look. He had seen it in the hungry faces of the men who waited hopefully outside the locker rooms, peering into the eyes of one player after another, looking for the special answer.
Apparently Coombes did not find the answer he wanted, for his eyes grew vague and guarded again. He extended his hand, allowing Yuri a brief grasp of four fingers.MoreLess
When the maid ushered him into the sitting room, Mrs. Keith was already having tea. Seated next to her on the sofa was a languid young man with glossy hair and soft, pouty lips. He sat with his knees pressed together as he carried on an animated conversation.
As Yuri entered the room Mrs. Keith looked up a...nd smiled. “Ah, Yuri, there you are. Lyle dear, this is the young man I told you about.”
Lyle Coombes turned from his conversation, and for a moment his eyes stabbed intently into Yuri’s. Yuri knew the look. He had seen it in the hungry faces of the men who waited hopefully outside the locker rooms, peering into the eyes of one player after another, looking for the special answer.
Apparently Coombes did not find the answer he wanted, for his eyes grew vague and guarded again. He extended his hand, allowing Yuri a brief grasp of four fingers.MoreLess
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