Никогде

           Richardjoggedupthatroad.HegottotheStocktonbuildingintenminutes,walkedstraightpasttheuniformedsecurityguardsondutyonthegroundfloor,steppedintotheelevator,andwentup.Theinsideoftheelevatorwasmirrored,andhestaredathimselfashewentup.Histiewashalf-undoneandaskew,hiscoatwasripped,hispantstorn,hishairwasasweatymess...God,helookedawful.

           Therewasaflutingtone,andtheelevatordooropened.Jessica’sfloorwasquiteopulent,inanunderdecoratedsortofway.Therewasareceptionistbytheelevator,apoisedandelegantcreaturewholookedlikehertake-homepaybeatRichard’shandsdown.ShewasreadingCosmopolitan.ShedidnotlookupasRichardcameover.

           "IneedtotalktoJessicaBartram,"saidRichard."It’simportant.Ihavetospeakwithher."

           Thereceptionistignoredhim,intentuponexamininghernails.RichardwalkeddownthecorridoruntilhegottoJessica’soffice.Heopenedthedoorandwentin.Shewasstandinginfrontofthreelargeposters,eachadvertising"AngelsoverEngland—ATravelingExhibition,"eachwithadifferentimageofanangelonit.Sheturnedashecamein,andshesmiledwarmlyathim.

           "Jessica.ThankGod.Listen,IthinkI’mgoingmadorsomething.ItstartedwhenIcouldn’tgetataxithismorning,andthentheofficeandtheTubeand—"Heshowedherhisraggedsleeve."It’slikeI’vebecomesomekindofnon-person."Shesmiledathimsomemore,reassuringly."Look,"saidRichard."I’msorryabouttheothernight.Well,notaboutwhatIdid,butaboutupsettingyou,and...look,I’msorry,andit’sallcrazy,andIdon’thonestlyknowwhattodo."