“To facilitate our meeting I will wear a green carnation in the button-hole of my Pedro Agenbite suite, a salmon-pink Ben Broccolli shirt, and shoes by Gabriel Kriepescu. A copy of Pravda will be on the table and my armoured Zil will be parked outside.
If all you see is a forty-something Englishman with shoulder length brown hair, a goatee beard, and a leather trench coat, accompanied by a curvaceous blonde of somewhat fewer years, then I have been unexpectedly ‘Called Away’. These are my scions. Introduce yourselves. They have been briefed.”
Tiffany carefully burnt the note.