The driver, a big, light-haired boy with a solemn Slav face, held the car door open. She picked up the intercom and said, “I think the boss has arrived.” She heard Toby make a sound, halfway between a grunt and a gasp, like the noise driven from the body when it plunges into cold water. She opened the door of her own room in time to hear Randall Blackett announce himself to the girl in the outer office, who seemed so overcome that she could do nothing but open and shut her mouth. Susan emerged and said, “I expect you want Mr Harmond, Mr Blackett. Can I show you the way?” The man swung round and looked at her. It was a brief but all-inclusive inspection. He said, “You are Mr Harmond’s secretary. We spoke on the telephone yesterday. I recognise your voice.” “Correct,” said Susan with a smile. “The room’s along here on the left. Although I expect you’ve been here before.” Blackett did not move. He said, “No. This is my first visit. Might I know your name?” “It’s French and rather difficult.
