On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. “I am not sure,” Anna answered. My will is executed, and placed in safe custody. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. He stared at the woman depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head. Ann Veronica liked their relationship all the more because it was an unusual one. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. “Come,” he said, “this is capital, capital. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest.
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