‘I don’t want a list of all the nuns resident in your wretched convent. ” They left the restaurant just as the rain slowed to a dull trickle, the fury of the storm exhausted, having left mirror puddles in its wake. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. She was tempted to touch him in the car as they drove to the empty house, but she refrained for fear of causing a car accident. “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. But it was not so ordered.
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