Preparations were next made for taking Thames on board. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. ‘You are dead, you,’ he yelled back, leaping into the seat of the final pew. Lucy followed. After these dinners they would have a walk, usually to the Thames Embankment to see the two sweeps of river on either side of Waterloo Bridge; and then they would part at Westminster Bridge, perhaps, and he would go on to Waterloo.
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