A pretty piece. Gianfrancesco had been talked into the arrangement only because the drivers that had handled the job for generations were sick or dead. He stepped back further. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. ‘It was your son who left the place empty then?’ he asked. And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. It would be downright cruel to disillusion her. “Yes, I believe he is. I tried to get across the terrace and onto the bridge to introduce myself, but the crowds did not part and I lost you.
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