His face was close against the glass. His hungry eyes peered through.
At that moment she raised her head, looked straight across to the window, and saw him.
He could not move.
He could not look away. Her eyes gazed into his; right into his, and held them.
She sat perfectly still.
The hand stroking little Nigel’s leg, paused.
The boy’s lashes lay upon his cheek. He stirred uneasily. The hand stroked again.
Her face blanched to ashen whiteness; then the delicate colour flooded it once more.
Still her eyes held him.
At last her lips moved, silently. They formed one word: “Wait.”