Chapter 4
It being a Saturday, the summons was to Sir Arthur’s town house in Belgravia. The wind was brisk, but pale winter sunlight gleamed off the frontage of the white, stuccoed terrace as Roger strolled along to number twenty-two. Upon knocking, he was admitted by a manservant of the correct but nondescript variety and shown into a pleasant drawing room that looked out onto the square.
He was somewhat surprised to find Miss Pendleton sitting in an armchair by the window, wearing a pale grey woollen dress and reading a novel by D.H. Lawrence. She looked up and smiled at his entrance. “Mr. Cottingham, excellent. How is the new job going?”
“Ah—very well, thank you. I trust you’re well, Miss Pendleton?”
“Never better. Sir Arthur’s in his study, which is through the far door. You can go
