Sable treated her brusquely, like a servant. “This is Mr. Archer, by the way. He wants to ask you some questions.” “Right now?” “If you can spare the time,” I said. “Mrs. Galton thought you could give me some pictures, perhaps some information.” “Pictures of Tony?” “If you have them.” “I keep them for Mrs. Galton. She likes to look at them when the mood is on her.” “You work for her, do you?” “If you can call it work. I’m a paid companion.” “I call it work.” Our eyes met. Hers were dark ocean blue. Discontent flicked a fin in their depths, but she said dutifully: “She isn’t so bad. She’s not
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