Flyaway

Начало книги

We live in the era of instancy. The clever chemists have invented instant coffee; demonstrating students cry in infantile voices, 'We want the world, and we want it now!' and the Staffords have contrived the instant flaming row, a violent quarrel without origin or cause.'

Our marriage was breaking up and we both knew it. The heat engendered by friction was rapidly becoming unsupportable. On this particular Monday morning a mild enquiry into Gloria's doings over the weekend was wantonly interpreted as meddlesome interference into her private affairs. One thing led to another and I arrived at the office rather frayed at the edges.

Joyce Godwin, my secretary, looked up as I walked in and said brightly, 'Good morning, Mr Stafford.'. 'Morning,' I said curtly, and slammed the door of my own office behind me. Once inside I felt a bit ashamed. It's a bad boss who expends his temper on the staff and Joyce didn't deserve it. I snapped down the intercom switch. 'Will you come in, Joyce?'

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