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288 pages, Paperback
First published April 3, 2024
Sir Alec eyes him up and down again as you would an intruder, something blown in off the street, then turns to view the expansive rolling fields of the estate. 'You are born into this land, Detective Sergeant, like the foxes and birds and badgers. Rooted to it, like the trees. Your philosophers mightn't be able to tell us what's true and what's not. But I can. This,' he says, voice raised, gesturing to the estate with a sweep of his hand, 'is what's true; this is what we went to war for...' (p.77)
Pinkie is a spiv, a species of life that grew out of the black-market era. He wears the uniform of the spiv: dark, tight suit; slicked-back hair; pencil moustache; and dapper shoes. Not that he stands around on street corners selling watches of silk stockings or French perfume. No, Pinkie works in the background, selling whatever sells, often to toffs and those with the money to buy. Pinkie is on first-name terms with Sir Alec, who has a taste for French cigarettes and rare French wines that Pinkie has a talent for tracking down. (p.80)