The woollen-draper looked at his watch. “I meant it. ” She marked an hotel that seemed neither opulent nor odd in a little side street opening on the Embankment, made up her mind with an effort, and, returning by Hungerford Bridge to Waterloo, took a cab to this chosen refuge with her two pieces of luggage. There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (both taboo) at his elbow. Cathy threw Mike a look. Good-bye aunt. That old world that had shoved up that silly old hotel, and all the rest of it. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. “Call it warning, if you like.
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