The smell of death. Funerals and weeping. Joe had seen too many lilies. Bonnefoye sighed. ‘A special delivery! They must be three feet high! Walking along behind those, no one’s going to notice your face or challenge you. “Who are you and what’s your business here?” Pretty obvious, I think. You’d feel silly asking!’ ‘And flowers arriving at the stage door – it’s a daily occurrence. There’s usually someone on duty to receive them, though, and bring them on here to her dressing room.’ ‘I’m thinking this must have been a particularly forceful delivery boy,’ said Joe. ‘Too much to hope there’s a card with them, I suppose?’ Bonnefoye checked and came up with nothing more than a shrug. ‘Well, gentlemen, are we ready to face the crowd?’ asked Joe. Information, explanation and requests for back-up followed in an intensive quarter of an hour. Derval hurried away to carry out Bonnefoye’s instructions.
