The parcel contained books — long, serious books — Edith Wharton, Scott Fitzgerald, Raymond Chandler.
‘How kind she is,’ Alison Mayhew said. ‘l’m very grateful to Emma. But please suggest to her that short stories might be more useful in future.’
Dexter tried to laugh, but inside his head he was screaming.
A few minutes later, he went downstairs to the kitchen, where his father was making lunch. Dexter picked up a glass of wine and drank it quickly, then he refilled the glass.
‘Dexter, please be careful,’ his father said. ‘You drink too much. Alcohol is poison for you these days.’
‘The present is from Emma,’ Dexter said. ‘Let’s open it.’