Chapter 120
“I thought you were hungry,” Steve said with a grin. “Eat up, this is delicious.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Tip replied dreamily, making patterns in the gravy with his fork.
“You know, the ancient Roman physician Galen thought the liver was the seat of all passions,” Steve purred suggestively. “Let me help you out with that,” he added, leaning over to spear Tip’s liver.
“Um. I really don’t think I’m going to want dessert,” Tip said, abandoning all pretence of eating. “Can we go? Now?”
* * * *
The road back to Newchurch had never seemed so long, winding and insanely full of tourists insisting on travelling at twenty miles an hour. Steve drove with a restraint that was theoretically commendable but in practice, in Tip’s considered opinion, bloody frustrating. “Does your Aunty June drive?” he asked.
Steve braked good-naturedly as the driver in front dithered over a turning, then decided not to risk it. “Yes, why?”