“Diedermayer’s a kiss-ass. She still had her letter of credit. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. ‘But I was not there. And then I came here. I’ve—dreads. He walked out into the Champs Elysées and sat down. I tell you this child would have been strangled. ’ Trodger eyed her with suspicion. ’ ‘Indeed, I’m beginning to think so,’ he said ruefully. Pure romantic nonsense on her part. Tom swore he hadn't set eyes on him since the trial. Enough to let her find out a piece of information most urgent.
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