Hunting for Crows Read Online Free Page B

conversations flow with continual use of ‘open’ questions, those which could not be answered with a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’. At times, it could be irritating, in particular when he was in a hurry, but at the moment he was happy to indulge. He explained his rationale and told her he would raise the subject in their next management monthly meeting, a week on Tuesday.
    ‘You seem to pack away a pretty big lunch,’ she said, ‘but you never seem to put on an ounce of weight. What’s your secret?’
    He smiled. ‘Don't think I’m about to reveal the details of a new, radical diet just so you can write a book and make millions. Not because I don’t want to lose you, but because I don’t have one. I only eat here to save me cooking at home.’
    ‘It makes sense. How are you coping on the domestic front?’
    ‘What, with Emily gone?’
    She nodded. ‘But don’t tell me if you think I’m being nosey.’
    ‘It’s all right, I’m a big boy. I’m doing ok, I suppose. I mean, I’m a bit limited in what I can cook but I can read the instructions on a packet and operate a microwave, so I won’t starve although I have to admit, it’s not much fun cooking for one.’
    She sighed. ‘Tell me about it.’
    ‘Oh. Did something happen between you and Andrew?’
    ‘We split up…two weeks ago.’
    ‘I'm sorry to hear it. You kept that quiet.’
    ‘I did. I didn’t want to broadcast it and have everybody talking about me.’
    ‘You mean like I did?’
    ‘No, I didn’t mean it like that. In any case, it’s different for you, you’re the boss and everyone in here knew Emily, so it would have thrown the whole place into gossip-overdrive if you’d turned up at one of our regular restaurant get-togethers on your own or on the arm of someone else.’
    ‘Ha, fat chance of that happening at the moment, but you’re right. What happened between you and Andrew, if you don't mind me asking?’
    She looked down at her empty plate; he was only halfway through his lasagne. ‘He said we were moving in different directions and we weren’t the same people we once were.’ She shrugged. ‘I guess it was a polite way of saying he fancied somebody else.’
    ‘I didn’t know him too well, but whenever we met I always thought he was a nice guy.’
    ‘Maybe too nice, if you know what I mean.’
    ‘Don’t do yourself down, Sarah. You’ll soon find someone else.’
    ‘I haven’t yet.’
    ‘You’ll see. You’ll be inundated with offers if you haven’t been already.’
    He meant it. She was forty-two with a pretty face and styled shoulder-length blonde hair which was trimmed every three or four weeks. She wore stylish clothes and had what he would call a ‘womanly’ figure, as she wasn’t stick-thin like the bulimic clothes-horses he often saw in the fashion pages of newspapers, or so fat that the material on her blouse was put under continual strain.
    ‘I thank you kind sir,’ she said reaching out and putting her hand on his arm. ‘I regret to say I can’t sit around here listening to any more of these fine compliments. I’ve got three more interviews to do this afternoon.’
    ‘What a shame, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.’
    She stood and waved a dainty hand. ‘Bye, Peter. See you later. We should do this more often.’
    He spent a large part of the next few hours on a succession of phone calls and in two long meetings, and only returned to his desk at six-thirty after a tedious session with the marketing team. If he was tired, he would usually check his messages and emails and if nothing required his immediate attention, he would pack a briefcase and head home, but tonight the prospect of microwaved meatballs in front of the television somehow didn’t have its usual appeal. Instead, he went down to the cafeteria for something to eat and came back to the office and continued to work for another couple of hours.
    He began by reviewing a report sent to him by a firm of property consultants, the same