Jan leaned against the wall by the window, his hands deep in his trenchcoat pockets, a limp cigarette hanging from his thin lips. Near him, Jeanne dozed in an armchair. Every so often when she drifted into a deeper sleep, her body jerked violently, awakening her. Ranleigh sat opposite them, his head supported on his hand, silent and effacing. He had scarcely said a word all the long afternoon. At the far end of the room, Corridon and Ann sat together on the settee, hidden from the other three by an ugly, ornate screen. There was an explosive atmosphere in the studio, and Corridon had been careful to keep Ann from Jeanne’s sight, certain that if they came face to face there would be a scene. With her aid, he had worked out the route to Dunbar. It had been finally agreed that they should all go by road, using Ann’s car. There was a motorboat at Dunbar, Ann had told him, belonging to the island, to take them across from the mainland. And now they had nothing more to do but to wait until it was dark.
