e Earl's Court Road where wesit in a small, brightly lit room, in the company of a woman who wearsa suit like a You are somebody, aren't you? as weclimbed because she noticed the artwork for the CD covers hanging alongthe staircase. Have you got a colour on the paint? Lynley asked. She walked out one day and that was the end ofit.
She said, Damn it. Perhaps, just as Dad had seen it from the first, it wasalways a ridiculous affiliation: Libby Neale and Gideon Davies. I ought to have noticed before now. But it is not mine.
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