Fraser surveyed the damage with a detached and calm expression. He moved slowly across the dining room, gently sweeping aside the peacock feathers and shattered glass with his brogues, though careful to step around the sticky dark patches of beer and blood that had sunk deep into his Axminster carpets. He wore an expression of someone who had already accounted for his loss and was calculating his next move.
Adam lurched hurriedly from room to room, expletives tumbling out of him as he discovered new types of carnage never before conceived by man or insurance policy. Every measured, silent step Fraser took through the house enraged him even more. Feeling he had to increase his own reactions to compensate for his brother’s infuriating lack of emotion, he started throwing things.
‘What the HELL are we going to tell them?’ he shouted down the hall at Fraser.
‘We’ll just tell them the truth’ came the reply in a deliberate monotone.
‘We can come up with a story – something, anything’
‘They’ll be here in a quarter of an hour’
‘All of them?’
Fraser appeared at the doorway. He smiled ruefully and nodded.
‘All of them. Including the PM.’
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