His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day. The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it. Was she so fearful still? Roding shrugged and grimaced. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. In the flagged entrance hallway at the bottom, where extra light came in from a window above the double doors, it was easy enough to distinguish a family group, and a landscape which clearly included Remenham House in the distance. Courtlaw opened his lips, but remained silent in the face of her imperative gesture. It was there in the breast pocket, stiff and legal looking. .
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