Burgess was his usual dishevelled self as he opened the door. If he remembered Blaine from their Cambridge days nothing in his face showed it. But, why would a man like Guy Burgess ever notice a Cambridge “blue”? A nice, muscular arse notwithstanding, “blue” was just a four-letter word to Burgess and so was “bore.”
“Mr. Blaine,” Troy said. “I’ll be on the floor below. Room 707. Just knock on the door when you’re ready to leave.”
As Blaine stepped into the room, Burgess looked blankly at Troy. He’d nothing to say. Just as well, there was nothing Troy wanted to hear.