THIRTY-TWO
David Llewellyn arrived at Lambeth Bridge early. He was terrified that if he did not obey Northcote’s instructions to the letter, he would be placing Sheila’s life in jeopardy. Or, as he grimly reconsidered, more jeopardy than it already was – if that were possible. His mind was all over the place and his stomach was spinning like a top. He was sure that he was going to be sick at any moment.
The day was on the brink of evening and a stiff breeze blew off the river. Instinctively, he pulled his overcoat around him, although he was fully aware that it wasn’t the cool air that was making him shiver. It was fear. Fear that whatever he did this evening, the outcome would be tragic.
At a quarter to six, he approached the telephone box, which was on the opposite side of the road to
