Counterparts

           Thebellrangfuriouslyand,whenMissParkerwenttothetube,afuriousvoicecalledoutinapiercingNorthofIrelandaccent:

           “SendFarringtonhere!”

           MissParkerreturnedtohermachine,sayingtoamanwhowaswritingatadesk:

           “Mr.Alleynewantsyouupstairs.”

           Themanmuttered“Blasthim!”underhisbreathandpushedbackhischairtostandup.Whenhestooduphewastallandofgreatbulk.Hehadahangingface,darkwine-coloured,withfaireyebrowsandmoustache:hiseyesbulgedforwardslightlyandthewhitesofthemweredirty.Heliftedupthecounterand,passingbytheclients,wentoutoftheofficewithaheavystep.

           Hewentheavilyupstairsuntilhecametothesecondlanding,whereadoorboreabrassplatewiththeinscriptionMr.Alleyne.Herehehalted,puffingwithlabourandvexation,andknocked.Theshrillvoicecried:

           “Comein!”

           ThemanenteredMr.Alleyne’sroom.SimultaneouslyMr.Alleyne,alittlemanwearinggold-rimmedglassesonacleanshavenface,shothisheadupoverapileofdocuments.Theheaditselfwassopinkandhairlessitseemedlikealargeeggreposingonthepapers.Mr.Alleynedidnotloseamoment:

           “Farrington?Whatisthemeaningofthis?WhyhaveIalwaystocomplainofyou?MayIaskyouwhyyouhaven’tmadeacopyofthatcontractbetweenBodleyandKirwan?Itoldyouitmustbereadybyfouro’clock.”

           “ButMr.