He needed to laugh, but only she laughed as he chuckled weakly. “Her husband was a county councillor, and she has a niece who comes to see her in a carriage. Charming girl. Let me keep you from that man’s clutches. Why ever did you let me get into that wagonette?” “I thought we had to,” said Ann Veronica, who had also been a little under the compulsion of the marshals of the occasion. He stood outside of the car, bewildered, as she walked up to the BMW’s front bumper. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. There were shadows under his eyes. He had only to recall this fact (which he did in each crisis) to erect a barrier she could not go around or over.
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