THE guard opened the door of the spotless bright orange BMW and Lady Frances slowly stepped out, alighting first, with her legs, and then, her whole self. Standing and feeling in the air of the atmosphere, she took a deep breath. For a long while she hadn't stepped into this vicinity, Oswald's mansion.
She glanced around again and then began making her way towards the entrance door, her heels clicking softly on the cobblestones of the mansion's driveway. Her guard, following behind.
Her face, though calm, was lined with determination. She had come to confront Orlanda after the unsettling phone call with Carlson, who, as usual, had filled her head with worries and doubts. His words had echoed in her mind all through that fateful day.
“...she is not just a girl —”
Carlson’s paranoia was
