Twenty Two
“I think Sharon felt that life had passed her by. She loved to live vicariously through the adventures of others.” — Francesca BoyleIsaac waited by the centre line for a gap in the oncoming traffic, the Audi’s indicator ticking patiently. Across the road, a large sign mounted behind and above a chain link fence announced the entrance to Dakin Boyle’s Wade Park manufacturing plant.
It had been a pleasant 20-minute drive through unusually light morning traffic. He had enjoyed the trip — where driving the Mazda had been nothing more than something that needed to be done to get from point A to point B, driving Francesca’s Audi was somehow a simple pleasure in itself. And he was no longer haunted by the residual smell of Francesca’s perfume — either it was gone, or he simply no lon
