“Eight, Cavendish Square. Her fingers found the lump she sought and, with a little effort, she dragged out the black-wrapped foil. “I can’t help saying it,” she said, with the quality of her voice altering, “but I do NOT think it is right for an unprotected girl to be in London alone as you are. What can a girl do? Somewhere at this point Ann Veronica’s speculations were interrupted and turned aside by the approach of a horse and rider. Obviously he is still interested. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. This at once thrilled her and worried her. “You are coming in, aren’t you, Sydney?” “If I may,” he answered. The young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished. She floundered deep. The young lady saw the change, and almost snorted. Melusine shrieked an imprecation, and ran the length of the aisle, searching for the weapon she had thrown. This is your moment. This is no place for me. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying.
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