Lauren ran her hand over the sofa, brining it to her nose to check whether any evidence remained of their activities. To her disappointment, there was...none. A quick rummage through her clothes produced a clean T-Shirt and a pair of knickers. Bras were too warm anyway and socks were unnecessary.She waltzed down to the kitchen, humming to herself as she made coffee. Lauren recalled the news reports of the night before and was dismayed. She felt sure they would have to leave the house and trudge. "Sorry," he said. "I guess you've got other things on your mind right now, too." Haven't we all?" Rick nodded towards the open door of the café. Outside the streets were quiet except for the not so distant thump of German artillery. The sound of the shell fire was louder, closer, than it had been that morning. Clegg looked down at the milky coloured drink, pondering for a few moments whether he preferred the smoother French take on aniseed flavoured alcohol over the Greek or the Turkish. There. More

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