13
By eleven o’clock, Lisa had sobered up enough to venture into the shower, pull on a pair of worn denim shorts and a sleeveless vest and was happily ensconced in the communal garden, reclining on a comfy, padded lounger. There was a glass of iced lemonade in one hand and last evening's newspaper, which she had found folded neatly on the weather beaten table. She was busy scouring the headlines, large and small, for further news on Scarlett Reading, when the noise of her phone beeping interrupted her concentration. It signified an incoming text. She bent over and fished one French manicured hand inside her crumpled rucksack. Rummaging around, she felt the cool touch of a pen, a worn-down lipstick and a set of keys. Her hand clasped around her Blackberry while she pushed her sunglasses up
