FIFTEEN
Mrs Frances Coulson had only just bid one of her gentleman callers adieu and was enjoying a cigarette and a small glass of sherry, when her mellifluous doorbell rang. A frown manifested itself on her carefully made up face. She wasn’t expecting anyone – she had no more appointments that day – and so this could only be some sort of inconvenience. As she made her way to the front door, she hoped it wasn’t that detective fellow with the eye patch. He was too inquisitive and too sharp for comfort.
She could see a bulky shadow through the frosted glass. So it was a man.
With some trepidation she opened the door and on seeing her visitor, her mouth dropped open.
‘Hello Auntie,’ said the man. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’
