Bitter Greek Reality

Sorry not to have posted, but things are very edgy here at work, and I don’t particularly want anyone to see me doing non-professional stuff when I’m supposed to be working. There have been a lot of serious meetings, and whenever you see the partners they look grim, so I’m starting to wonder if Michael was right after all, when he said the firm was in trouble. Wish I had looked for another job when he suggested it, as looking for new jobs it going to be loads more difficult now.
Ho well, other news is that Vasilius arrived last night. (Accompanied by his bitter, grumpy cousin Dimitrios.) Rache rang me up for a whispered telephone call. She said he looked completely different in London: sort of sallow and wrinkly. I suppose it’s a bit like when you buy one of those kaftan thingies on holiday and wear it every day, feeling relaxed and glamorous, and then you get home and try it on, and practically pass out with horror at how awful you look in it. Still, as Vasilius has gone to the huge bother of pretending he needed to go to a London to look at restaurant supplies (he’s opening a restaurant soon with his Dimitrios), and flying over here, Rache feels she pretty well HAS to sleep with him, now, whether she fancies him or not. She hasn’t got the strength of mind to say he can sleep on the couch and nothing more. (Or even the strength of mind to refuse to answer the door and pretend she isn’t in.) On the plus side, he brought her loads of cakes. (Which had also gone sort of sad and wrinkly on the plane.)