But somehow I thought not. Onslow Square was the right sort of stamping ground for a girl like Kate Graveney. I imagined the square was especially beautiful in summer, with the trees shading and defending the central private park, and the tall Georgian house fronts gazing down snootily at plebs like me. Most of the buildings were terraced and single-fronted a door and one massive bay window. But here and there came a break in the pattern and a house stood clear of its neighbours by taking up twice the width.Kates house the one I thought was hers was one of those. I walked past, then studied it from behind a parked automobile. There were one or two other cars around, big ones, expensive ones, but no Riley; then I saw the garage doors to the left of the flight of steps going up to the front door. The house was four storeys high and fronted by tall columns. It was painted white and had the girth of a good-sized hotel. It was as far removed from our two-room tenement flat in Kilpatrick as Buckingham Palace itself.It was growing dark and the street lamps were coming on, shedding pale light over the scene.
