But I have not done so, and will not. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. Montague Hill?” Annabel put her hand suddenly to her throat and steadied herself with the back of a chair. Oh, I think I understand, Annabel. I want a walk. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. He went in and leaned, panting, against one wall. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. He could have her in the car but she preferred a more private setting.
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