Hemmings had a car waiting a couple of blocks away. He steered Wade into the back seat as the rattle of gunfire echoed in the compact streets. He instructed the driver to get to the Ritz and not to spare the horses. He explained to Wade that he didn"t drive. He struggled to reach the pedals, "Trouble with being a short arse," he said, to the amusement of Wade. He had expertly defused her tension.
That time of night, close to midnight, traffic was light, and it didn"t take long for the driver to reach the West End and he pulled up at the side entrance to the Ritz, on Arlington Street. Wade knew it, had often walked past this hotel in forays from her humble East End, into posh knob territory. She also knew a few of the staff, porters, and some of the bell boys, one of whom was taking a brea
