Sandstorm. Anne Mather

shadowy courtyard, redolent with the heady perfumes of flowering vines and fig trees.

      Shaking away the feelings of melancholy her thoughts had evoked, Abby hurried along the street towards the underground station. It was pointless indulging in sentimentality, particularly when sentiment had played so small a part in her life there, and she felt impatient with herself for allowing the past to haunt her. But it had been seeing Rachid again which had triggered all these remembrances, and she guessed it had been his intention to arouse just such a reaction.

      Riding home in the train, she turned her attention to more immediate matters. The question of what she and her father were to have for their evening meal was her most pressing problem, and she spent the remainder of the journey turning the contents of the refrigerator over in her mind. There were always eggs, she thought wryly, considering omelettes, but somehow food had lost the ability to evoke any enthusiasm at the moment.

      Dacre Mews seemed dimly lit as she turned off Dartford Road. The tall, narrow houses clustered together, shutting out the stars, and etching themselves darkly against the night sky. There were lights in some of the windows, but it was early as yet, and many of the tenants had not returned home from their jobs in the city. It was a working community, and Professor Gillespie enjoyed his isolation during the day.

      The Mews was gradually filling with cars, and Abby picked her way between them, glad that she did not have to find somewhere to park. Her father’s old Alvis spent most of its days in the garage, and since leaving Rachid she had not found the use for a car. She knew it annoyed her father that in the evenings there was invariably a car parked at their gate, but fortunately his days were left undisturbed.