Hector's Desk

He was sitting at his grandfather’s desk.

I saw it from the door of the estate office and stopped, and Priscilla, behind me with two coffees, walked into my back and said nothing about it, which told me she had seen it too.

The chair had been pulled out from the wall. The green leather had been wiped. On it there was one sheet of Kerrow notepaper, face down, and his phone, and nothing else. He had shaved and put on a clean shirt, and he had not slept; I knew the difference in his face the way I knew the difference in his quiets. Two chairs had been set in front of the desk, side by side, facing him. It was like being called in to be told something about your contract.

“Ms Oyelaran,” he said. “Wren. Sit down.”

Priscilla’s eyebrows went up about a millimetre, at the name,…