TSH Moodboard: Henry & Richard
‘Henry?’ I said at last, my voice scarcely more than a whisper. He let the cigarette fall from his fingers and took a step towards me. It really was him - damp, ruddy cheeks, snow on the shoulders of his overcoat. ‘Good God, Richard,’ he said, ‘what’s happened to you?’ It was as much surprise as I ever saw him show. I stood where I was, staring, unbalanced. Things had got too bright. I reached for the door frame, and the next thing I knew I was falling, and Henry jumped forward to catch me. He eased me onto the floor and took off his coat and spread it over me like a blanket. ‘Where did you come from?’ I said. ‘I left Italy early.’ He was brushing the hair back from my forehead, trying to get a better look at my cut. I saw blood on his fingertips.
