” “Sure, anything you want. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think. . Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door. Just as he reached them, the Comte de St Erme drew Valade a little apart and began to converse with him in rapid French. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. They crossed the Park to the westward, and then turned back and walked round the circle about the Royal Botanical Gardens and then southwardly toward Waterloo. They drove around town that night in his Buick convertible. After all, if one could wait twenty years or more in between bouts of lovemaking, one could certainly wait a few more days.
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