I’d put it in the bathroom cabinet, with all the other emergency items.
I went to check and there it was, behind the rolled-up bandages and the wrist supports—a bottle of Rémy Martin, full and unopened.
I unscrewed the cap and took a drink. It wasn’t as nice as vodka, but it wasn’t bad.
I was very apprehensive about the laptop, never having set up a new computer before, but it was actually pretty easy.
The mobile Internet thing was straightforward too. I took the brandy and the laptop to the kitchen table,
typed his name into Google and hit return, then put my hands over my eyes.
Seconds later I peeped through my fingers. There were hundreds of results!
It seemed that this was going to be quite easy, so I decided to ration the pages;
after all, I had the entire weekend, so there was no point in rushing.
The first link took me to his own web page, which was entirely taken up with photographs of him and his band.
I moved closer to the screen until my nose was almost touching it.
I had neither imagined him, nor overestimated the extent of his beauty.
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