Noel's hands were unsteady as she drove back to Elizabeth Bay. So were her thoughts. Her diary, when she made herself open it later that day, recorded her apprehension.
She showered, dressed, ate some fruit and left to catch the bus for work with a head as thickly clogged with thoughts as with a cold; when she tried to reason one through it got lost in a gluey sea of others. She couldn't concentrate, couldn't focus. She would just go to work, and let him in tonight.
When the bus pulled up she paid her fare and found a seat. There was none of the usual chatter. The driver's radio was loudly reporting the eight o'clock news. Another suicide bombing in Pakistan. Scores killed, scores more injured. Her first thoughts were for her mother and Pat in neighbouring India.
The boardroom televisio
