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Two
TheratlookedupatDoor."No,hereallydoesmeanit,"shesaid."He’snotjustsayingit.Sowhathaveyougotforme?"Shefumbledattherat’sside,andpulledoutamuch-foldedpieceofbrownpaper,whichhadbeenheldonwithsomethingthatlookedtoRichardlikeavividbluerubberband.
Sheopeneditup:apieceofragged-edgedbrownpaper,withspideryblackhandwritingonit.Shereaditandnodded."Thankyou,"shesaid,totherat."Iappreciateallyou’vedone."Itscampereddownontothecouch,glaredupatRichardforamoment,andthenwasgoneintheshadows.
ThegirlcalledDoorpassedthepapertoRichard."Here,"shesaid."Readthis."
ItwaslateafternooninCentralLondon,and,withautumndrawingon,itwasgettingdark.RichardhadtakentheTubetoTottenhamCourtRoadandwasnowwalkingwestdownOxfordStreet,holdingthepieceofpaper.OxfordStreetwastheretailhubofLondon,andevennowthesidewalkswerepackedwithshoppersandtourists.
"It’samessage,"shesaid,whenshegaveittohim."FromthemarquisdeCarabas."
Richardwassurehehadheardthenamebefore."That’snice,"hesaid."Outofpostcards,washe?"
"Thisisquicker."
HepassedthelightsandthenoiseoftheVirginmegastore,andtheshopthatsoldsouvenirLondonpolicehelmetsandlittleredLondonbuses,andtheplacenextdoorthatsoldindividualslicesofpizza,andthenheturnedright.
