went across his face for about a quarter of a second.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
My phone went in my pocket. Hollis Quayle.
I’m downstairs. We need five minutes.
“Bad news?” he said.
“No. Not for me.”
And five minutes later the lift opened and Hollis came out with a sealed folder under his arm, and looked at me, and then at Rhett, and then at Yvie.
And the moment she recognised him, the colour went out of her face and the bottle went out of her hand
