Cyrus Hargrave

Victor trudged into the flat ravenous, his tie still on and his mind fixed on a warm meal. But the kitchen

I once worked as a secretary to a chief engineer at a sprawling manufacturing plant in Manchester.

“Softly laid—roughly slept” “Well, this time, I hope you’re not just visiting for three days?

Olivia typed the final message and hit send, finally able to pour herself a coffee. She leaned back in

I can’t stand my son-in-law, David. A rough-around-the-edges type from the sticks who drives for a living

“Better to be convenient than beautiful?” “Elen, have you lost your marbles?”

“Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that!” Oliver slammed his fist on the table, rattling

Marion stirred the broth absent-mindedly, tethered to the cooker. Outside the kitchen window, across

Margaret Peterson knew everything happening in their building. Who came home late, who argued loudly

Charles gripped the doorframe, knuckles white. “Eleanor! Eleanor, what on earth are you playing at?