As they kissed, the room came back, his smiles, his hands, his love.
"Another brandy?"
"No."
"We'll do better tonight than we did in London."
"That was awful that awful room..."
"Shall we go upstairs?"
"Yes."
She was standing by a mantel, her hair against the intricate carvings on the Caen stone: she was taller than he thought.
"When it's eleven o'clock?" he queried. "Will you?
"Don't think about it."