A guttural sound in my throat woke me and I couldn’t for a moment determine where I was. The clock read three o’clock. In a half-sleep, my dream replayed itself in staccato. I turned to look at the painting and could not shake the sense of loss. Sluggishly, I rose and washed in the small bathroom that consisted of a green porcelain handbasin, a small, green claw-footed bath and toilet with dark wooden seat. In the oval, gilt-edged mirror above the basin, my face was puffy and pallid. Already I had lost the tanned and bright-eyed health of Kos and Rome. Without lunch, I felt lightheaded and decided that I should eat.
There was no sound from room 10 as I passed, and I wondered if I should take the chance to leave. But I was not a prisoner and Elliot could not be made the villain. No Mabel a
