Read by Cliff Chapman
Henry’s car rumbled as it passed over the cattle grid on the southern border of his estate. He clutched the leather seats either side of him, leant forward into his protruding belly and emitted a low, involuntary groan. He burped in a descending glissando and the stale taste of cognac ballooned into his mouth. His chauffeur glanced curiously at the rear view mirror, to which Henry returned a woozy but stern glare of his own.
Jackson, Henry’s saturnine major-domo, was looking over some documents in the passenger seat. He tilted his head to call to Henry without turning back.
“Feeling all right, sir?” he asked in his familiar, motherly brogue.