She reached into her satchel for her pocket-sized sketch-pad and a pencil, wanting something discreet, so no one would notice her drawing. As she did so, her hand closed on the letter from Howard Baxter. She took that out instead, opened it, smiled on seeing how long the letter was, and began to read.
My dear Jasmine,
You haven’t replied properly to my last letter so I’m writing again. I know you must be busy preparing for your grand adventure in France, but I had hoped you might manage more than a picture postcard. Take pity on me! Imagine the pain of knowing I can no longer jump in the car, take the ferry to Penang and find you at Bella Vista. I visit the Hyde-Underwoods about once a month – being up there makes me feel closer to you – but the pain of your absence is sharp. When I’m si
