“And who might you be?” he enquired putting down his whiskey.This wasn’t at all what she’d been expecting. She was rather taken by surprise.�...Errr. My name’s Kay.” She pause.“I think you’ll find your name is 'Kay. Sir. Thank you Sir.'” he retorted.She didn’t quite know how to respond. But she bit her bottom lip and stared at the floor, slightly confused and embarrassed. “Kay. Sir. Thank you Sir.”She looked up and saw the old man take a pen out of his top pocket. He scribbled down a note on a. ”Ten minutes later, and I am standing, my nerves shattered, my eyes red, searching up and down Floral Street for Lucy. It is a warm summer’s evening, and the London crowds course and flow up and down the pavement. A black cab pulls up on the opposite side of the road, and I see Lucy get out and start to pay the driver.“Luce!” I call.“Daphné…” I hear a low voice behind me. I don’t need to turn to know who it is: I’d recognise that filthy accent anywhere, and I feel his hot breath on the back of. More

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