Despite the chill, a walk in the fresh air feels good. Even a stroll around the garden and the hotel grounds takes me out of the house.
A coffee...
Maybe raid James’ whiskey...
A spot by the fire...
…
…
Will Mitch be busy?
A taxi pulls up to the main gate and a familiar figure steps out, Georgie.
She’s dressed for the evening. Her long coat looks expensive, going-out-wear, and the bag slung over her shoulder sparkles as she teeters onto the gravel drive in dagger-heeled shoes. Her eyes are heavily kohled, her lips painted some strong colour, probably red but looking almost black in the harsh floodlit illumination of the entrance drive. The effect is stark on her already strong features.
The taxi pulls away, and she stands, watching after it, arms folded, shoulders slumped.
Backin
