Listen to this part of the story read by AI voice Mimic 3.
Everarck distributed the remainder of the e-mails without further incident. More than once he opened his mouth to ask about the Court of one of the array of thoughtful lonely officials abandoned in overlarge dusty offices around the building but, as HR Manager Octomus Dicks had somehow gotten loose from his office and was now snorting and evil-eyeing his way around the building, he decided to complete the task as efficiently as possible and then found a quiet place near the reception area to catch up on tasks he’d been avoiding for several days. As these did not elevate his impression of his own intellect, he contented himself by entering the records in rigorously pedantic detail in the most beautiful script he was capable of producing.
When Everarck got home, the hall telephone awaited him. A black triangular prism with round shiny buttons, its design was wholly predictable and yet Everarck could not help thinking it resembled the key to some deep space alien portal. He took off his jacket and baseball cap and put them on wall hooks that had always been there. He went to see if there was any mail propped next to the toaster. There was: a slender brown envelope, most likely a bill, and a stuffed-looking white packet that was undoubtedly junk mail. He didn’t touch either of them. The main news was that Zagonella had been here at some point. He hoped she’d slept.
Finally, there was nothing left to do except switch on the TV, access the world wide web with their dial-up service, read a newspaper, go for a walk, or check the answering machine. In short, give up, give up, give up, give up or let the consequences of his rash actions wash over him. He checked the answering machine. There were three messages, two of which were a couple of seconds of silence followed by a beep and then suddenly a voice was speaking in a slightly nasal voice that lingered over vowels, making it obvious the speaker was choosing her words with care.
‘Hello, this is Gerellia Noghan calling from the Court of Public Opinion. We received your message, Mr… Fanger. Thank you very much for getting in touch. I understand you’d like to apply for a law regarding… intellectual vanity of some kind, so that you can enter into a case with one of our professional advisors and work towards being acquitted of the charge. If I’ve understood correctly, call me back. My name’s Gerellia Noghan. You can call me on 01867 665 328. I’ll be here until about… 6 pm, maybe a little bit after that.’
‘Oh, God,’ he thought, ‘It’s only 5.37. I’ll have to do it.’
He sat down on the hall chair, an uncomfortable thing with a hard back. His knees jutted into the arc of the living room door, which he didn’t like, even though it was closed. He’d have to listen to the message again as he’d forgotten the number. The corner shop would close soon, and he needed cheese and bread, but that was no excuse either because the nearby Sunny’s didn’t close until 7. Sort out the road tax for Zagonella’s car? Fish the wedding invitation out from behind the fridge? No, it was no good. He’d have to call. He’d have to call. He looked at the phone and imagined picking up the receiver. Yep. There was no doubt about it. He’d have to call.
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