FIFTEEN
Sometime after five o’clock in the evening, Ryan arrived in the small market town of Beccles and found himself a small, nondescript hotel. His room was clean and plain, the view from the window uninspiring. Later, he ate a quiet dinner washed down with a single brandy, before returning to his room to change.
Afterwards, he spoke to the girl at reception, who pointed him in the direction of the river and a bar close by. He decided to ignore the chance for a drink and went to stand by the railings to watch the water meander by. The clear night sky brought a sense of peace, the countless stars reflected on the flat surface of the River Waveney, and romantic memories of Linny stirred from within, of long summer nights spent breathing in the heady scent of jasmine, stark mountaintops
