She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. ‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered. Please yourself. Paintings sold off the walls. At the bottom of the trunk was a large manila envelope, unmarked. ’ Melusine wrenched her wrists out of his hold and stepped back, digging into her skirts, which she had adequately prepared some days ago.
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