His window cleaner father stops, checking his notebook, then crosses the quiet suburban street. Art follows. ‘A certain house down here needs cleani...g today, son, and we’ll talk there.’ A large detached house with a glimpse of an orangery loomed ahead. They sparked in the summer sunshine. They didn’t look as though they needed doing yet. ‘This is it, Art,’ Bird says. ‘Lots o’ winders,’ Art laughs, ‘an ‘arf-a-crowner this one, I bet!’ He’d been learning the ropes since school broke up two. I’m calling about the ad in the Reader. Is this Richard?”“Yes, this is Richard” said Richard Widemouth in a voice that was more persimmon than buttercup“Well I’m James and I want my salad tossed.”“Yes James I’d be happy to oblige! Where would you like me to come?” said Richard Widemouth in a voice that was two thirds business, one sixth persimmon and one sixth friendly confidantRichard Widemouth got the address and hung up. The phone rang immediately. In fact, Richard Widemouth made six. More

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