Neville had ambled into the pub and endured the drop in hushed conversation, that always greeted the arrival of a stranger in a place like this. Unabashed, he’d approached the bar with all eyes following him, and ordered himself a dark beer and a whiskey chaser, before standing firmly still until the volume rose again. Irish whiskey, naturally, which he downed in one, savouring the burn all the way from his tongue to his belly. Then Neville turned and sat on a bar stool, resting his elbows behind him on the counter-top and assessing his surroundings.