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One
"Jessica’sfromIlford,actually,Gary.Andsheremainsthelightandloveofmylife,thankyouverymuchforasking."Theyreachedthelobby,andRichardmadeadashfortheautomaticdoors,whichspectacularlyfailedtoopen.
"It’saftersix,MisterMayhew,"saidMr.Figgis,thebuilding’ssecurityguard."Youhavetosignout."
"Idon’tneedthis,"saidRichardtonooneinparticular,"Ireallydon’t."
Mr.Figgissmelledvaguelyofmedicinallinimentandwaswidelyrumoredtohaveanencyclopediccollectionofsoft-corep**nography.Heguardedthedoorswithadiligencethatbordereduponmadness,neverquitehavingliveddowntheeveningwhenanentirefloor’sworthofcomputerequipmentuppedandleft,alongwithtwopottedpalmsandthemanagingdirector’sAxminstercarpet.
"Soourdrink’soff,then?"
"I’msorry,Gary.IsMondayokayforyou?"
"Sure.Monday’sfine.SeeyouMonday."
Mr.Figgisinspectedtheirsignaturesandsatisfiedhimselftheyhadnocomputers,pottedpalms,orcarpetsabouttheirpersons,thenhepressedabuttonunderhisdesk,andthedoorslidopen.
"Doors,"saidRichard.
Theunderwaybranchedanddivided;shepickedherwayatrandom,duckingthroughtunnels,runningandstumblingandweaving.
