Her home was on the twelfth floor overlooking the street and park, and all the staff in the building had been advised of her arrival.As Andrew and Trish emerged from the cab that had brought them from Havengate into the city, a middle-aged doorman in a gold-braided uniform stepped forward and tipped his hat.“Welcome back, Ms. Radcliffe,” he greeted her with an expression that was both warm and speculative.“Thank you,” Trish responded but her voice was thin and unsure. Should I know him?“I’m Harold Wills, ma’am,” he added when her return smile was hesitant and unsure. “I’ve been your doorman for nigh on fifteen years.”Fifteen years, and she felt as if she’d never seen him before in her life.“I’m sorry. I—”“That’s all right. I understand,” he said quickly, and the look he gave her was one of kindly pity.She wanted to turn and run before a battery of unfamiliar people lined up in front of her, and demanded impatiently, “Of course, you remember me.”Her instinct for flight communicated itself to Andrew.
