to everlasting infamy if published. JOHN CAM HOBHOUSE, Journals Mr Nicholas Melrose, who was head of his law firm and an important man, did not like to feel upset. He was not used to it, and hadn’t been for many years. ‘We never give the keys to anyone,’ he said rudely. He glared with some resentment at the girl opposite his imposingly large desk. How dare she unsettle him like this? ‘Never,’ he repeated. He jabbed with his finger, just in case there was still any doubt. ‘Never.’ Rebecca Carville stared at him, then shook her head. She bent down to pick up a bag. Melrose watched her. Long auburn hair, at once elegant and untamed, spilled over the girl’s shoulders. She swept it back, glancing up at Melrose as she did so. Her eyes glittered. She was beautiful, Melrose thought, quite upsettingly so. He sighed. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair, then stroked his paunch. ‘St Jude’s has always been a special case,’ he muttered, in a slightly more conciliatory tone.
