“It’d not take me long to
run you up a pair. I could even line them for you.”
Paul had politely refused.
Trevor had done so much already. Trevor was only mollified when
Paul confessed his mother had a spare set she was letting him
have.
Fingering the red velvet,
Paul wished he’d allowed Trevor to make him up a pair. “Though God
knows what colour he’d have picked.” Paul immediately castigated
himself. Before he’d moved into Trevor’s, he’d imagined outrageous
colours on all the soft furnishings, fancy pelmets and frilly
tie-backs. These images were soon discarded when he’d seen the
quiet and understated décor Trevor had chosen.
Quickly rejecting the idea
of watching something on the telly, Paul alighted on his bookshelf.
The bottom row of books had had to be thrown away, but fortunately
those higher up had survived, although many of them hadn’t
appreciated being in a damp environment. Picking out a western he’d