He hadn’t had a night in the cells for twenty years and he’d been so drunk on that occasion that he hadn’t realised he wasn’t in his own bed. He ached all over and he smelled disgusting.
Adrian let him be and presently emerged from the kitchen with two glasses of brandy. “Here,” he said. “Medicinal.”
Phil knocked it back and put the crystal glass on the coffee table with a clunk. “Thanks,” he said. “Ugh. I need a shower. I can smell myself. Sorry.”
Adrian folded elegantly into the chair opposite. “I’ve got a cold, don’t worry about it,” he said. “You can have a shower now, anyway.”
Phil wriggled out of his coat without getting up. “Yes. And then I suppose…” Again he tailed off. What exactly? What was he supposed to do now? “What happens next?” he asked.
“Well, I expect they’ll poke about some more. Ask more questions about what Richard was doing. Look at Peter’s audit. Double-check everything. They can’t ignore it now they know about it, whatever the firm wants to do.”