CHAPTER 13
I EXITED THROUGH the double doors and followed the plushly carpeted corridor back towards the hotel reception. A night porter manned the desk, slumped down in his chair and looking as bored as I felt.
“Excuse me?”
He glanced up.
“Is there a bar or a lounge somewhere here? Other than the c*****e back there, I mean.” I gestured back at the way I came.
“Of course, madam. The Thornton Bar is down that corridor, last door on the right.” He straightened up and pointed at a door on the other side of the room.
My eardrums rejoiced as the music faded, and it wasn’t long before I found myself in an oak-panelled bar. It was straight out of an old oil painting—the sort of room where a bunch of country gents would retire after dinner. They’d smoke cigars and discuss the important thing
