She swept them through the Central Circle and along the Algerian Avenue, emerging through the Wood Lane entrance. Queues of people waiting to get into the Exhibition, in orderly British fashion, stretched up the road. The stands of the stadium loomed not far to the south and cheers cascaded over the lip. Flags flew gaily, reminding everyone that this part of the site was truly international. They passed the stadium and Evadne took them to a lamp post where a young girl was standing, absorbed in a toffee apple. ‘Look up at the stadium,’ Evadne told Kingsley. She mimicked him, shading her eyes, but spoke to the girl on the other side of the lamp post. ‘All’s well, Meg?’ Meg wore a white sundress and a straw hat. Her black hair hung in a neat braid. She didn’t look at Evadne, but answered in a murmur around her toffee apple. ‘Just that man, ma’am.’ She inclined her head the merest fraction of an inch, but left no doubt who she was indicating. A small man stood a stone’s throw away.
