CHAPTER 13
An old Yves Montant album was playing in the background. He sang a soft, sad love ballade in French: Only you and the wind know my song.
A sigh escaped her lips as the words added a new edge to the heavy, Gothic darkness of her mood. She opened the tall windows wide, gulping in the fresh, early evening air. Two swallows darted back and forth against a sky red from the setting sun. Oh for such freedom! To end this bondage.
Her private wing formed part of the penthouse complex. A secluded retreat. Some eight rooms of varying sizes. Decorated in pastel shades, a different colour for each room. The apartments were furnished to a woman's taste. A place she could be alone in. With her reading, her music, her two beagles. And memories of happier times.
Across the dividing hallway,
