He fished his favourite pool, below the swing bridge, and conducted delightful conversations with Bryce. Because of course there would be a conversation. He would give himself the ineffable delight of laying that written resignation on the desk in front of Bryce’s nose; laying it there himself, in person. Then there would be some really satisfying chat, and he would walk out into the street a free man.
Free to do what?
To be himself, at the beck and call of nobody.
To do things he had always wanted to do and had had no time for. To mess about in small boats, for instance.
To get married, perhaps.
Yes, to get married. With leisure there would be time to share his life. Time to love and be loved.
This lasted him very happily for another hour.
About noon he became aware that he was not alone. He looked up and saw that a man was standing on the bridge watching him. He was standing only a few yards from the bank, and since the bridge was motionless he must have been there for some time. The bridge was the usual trough of wire floored with wooden slats, a structure so light that even the wind was capable of moving it. He was grateful to the stranger for not walking into the middle of the thing and swaying about there so that he distracted every fish in the neighbourhood.
He nodded to the man by way of expressing his approval.
‘Your name Grant?’ asked the man.