flat vacant in Hampstead village—in a road which was apparently a burglar’s paradise.
‘She’d be delighted to have you keeping your eye on the place,’ Fran’s mother had said. ‘But I’d like to see you myself, darling. When are you coming up to Scotland?’
Fran prodded a neglected-looking plant which was badly in need of a gallon or two of water, and frowned. ‘I promise I’ll be there for Christmas.’
‘What—not until then?’
‘Mum, it’s only weeks away.’ Fran kept her voice patient.
‘Is Rosie any better?’
‘A bit. Still misses this man Sam Lockhart.’
‘Didn’t that all finish ages ago?’
‘Uh-huh. I guess some broken hearts just take longer to heal than others.’ But Fran deliberately omitted to mention the fact that Sam was one of her new clients. The information would be bound to set her mother thinking, and for some strange reason Fran was convinced that she would try to talk her out of getting involved in some kind of vendetta.
There was a long and loaded pause followed by a question which was studiedly casual. ‘So how’s Sholto?’
The pause from Fran’s end was equally loaded. ‘How should I know, Mum? I don’t have anything to do with Sholto anymore. Why would I, when we’re divorced now? Apparently, he’s got a new girlfriend—’
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
