’ Chapter Three Captain Hilary Roding listened with only half an ear to the long-winded report being given by Sergeant Trodger, his idle gaze wandering over the congested traffic of Piccadilly and the many pedestrians weaving a hazardous path through it. Her back arched and she felt herself instinctively sinking into him. She kissed him on the bridge of his nose. But men of the Spurlock type, who walk straight, who are unobtrusive and intensely pale, they break swiftly and inexplicably. “How did you hear that?” Lucy’s brows knitted. I am going up to dine with my sister. “Then—then we can talk things out.
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