For the third time that morning, Clare Collamore forced a pleasant smile to her now pale lips and tried to look as though her enquiry were a perfectly normal one. “He—”“What’s the name, please?” The bright, indifferent little girl at the enquiry desk of Morgan & Petersfield, Publicity Agents, turned from her switchboard and poised a pencil above her pad.“That’s just it—I don’t know his name,” Clare explained. Then she hurried on, trying to ignore the girl’s blank stare of astonishment, “He’s a tall young man and this would be his first day back after a holiday abroad.”“You’re sure he works here?” The girl spoke briskly.“I think he must. I’ve tried the other two firms on this floor and he doesn’t seem to be there.”“But you know it’s this floor?”“Yes. He told me he worked on the top floor of this building. Doesn’t it ring any bell with you at all?—a tall young man. Early or middle twenties, I should think. And just back from a continental holiday.
