On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. As she neared the bottom of the dip in Piccadilly she saw a woman approaching her from the opposite direction—a tall woman who at the first glance seemed altogether beautiful and fine. “But, of course, she may have come from one of the other flats. ‘Yes, for there were too many females for the vicomte to make me a dowry. He waited for hours after dusk but she never arrived. He ran back to his car, glancing only once at the man in the car. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself.
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