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find one.”
    “I’m sorry,” Samantha said over her shoulder as Tony pushed her ahead of him down the narrow aisle between the tables. “I should have asked what you wanted. But I’m in the habit of coming by myself.”
    Why that confession warmed him he couldn’t have said. “It’s all right.”
    A couple got up from a small booth, and Tony and Sam slid into it, grinning at each other like fellow conspirators as they saw the chagrin on the faces of two young men who’d reached the table seconds too late.
    They ate their fish and chips, washing the food down with a soft drink that stained their lips orange. Afterwards, the trade in the shop having subsided somewhat, they lingered at the table, ordering tea.
    When it came, Sam made a face. “I hate milk in tea. It’s a new waitress. The old one never put it in.”
    Tony looked at her quizzically. “I thought all Brits took milk in their tea.”
    “I’m—” She skidded to a stop. “We didn’t in our family,” she said firmly, making a gallant recovery.
    “You mean you didn’t sit on the terrace in the summer and pour tea from a silver pot into thin china cups?”
    His tone was gentle, but she thought she heard an underlying sarcasm. Lifting her chin, she said grandly, “Of course we did, but we poured our own.”
    “It looks as if you’ve come down in the world.” With a smile that didn’t seem quite real he lifted his tea mug in a salute. “Welcome to the real world, Samantha Clark. Now, how about telling me your real name and what exactly you’re up to.”
    She knew having dinner with him had been a mistake, and cursed her weakness. Despite the humid heat of the room, a chill seeped into her. She hugged her arms defensively around her chest. “I can’t. Believe me, I can’t.”
    “Can’t? Or won’t?” He reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. “What is it, Samantha? What are you afraid of?”
    Her face felt still and pale, his quiet concern tempting her. Only the fear kept her from spilling it all. “Nothing.”
    A muscle tightened next to his mouth. “Okay, we’ll try a different approach. What were you doing in the Regal Arms this afternoon when you saw the ‘dead’ man?”
    “I was buying a newspaper. Whenever I’m in the neighborhood, I buy a newspaper there.”
    “Why there, Samantha? There’s a news agent’s on the street corner.”
    She flushed. “Because I like the grandeur of the lobby. It reminds me—“ Again she broke off, biting her lip as she refused to elaborate.
    Tony nodded as if he understood. “So we have something in common. We’re impressed by the lobby of the Regal Arms. What does it remind you of?”
    What would it hurt, after all? “My grandmother’s house. I used to spend a lot of time there when I was a child. The place was enchanting.” Sadness crept into her low voice. “When she died, the house was sold.”
    “I’m sorry.” Letting go of her hand, he lifted his cup, setting it down again when he realized it was empty. “Sam, let me help you.”
    “I don’t need any help.” She rose from her seat, abandoning her own mug of cold tea. “Shall we go? I have work tomorrow.”
    “Work?” he echoed as he followed her out the door into the cool misty night. “What do you do?”
    She shivered as the dampness seeped through her jacket. “Translations. I’m fluent in German and French, and I can work my way around Italian and Spanish. Right now I’m doing a literature text for a retired professor. French to English. It’s an easy one.”
    They entered her building, climbing the stairs to the third floor. At the door of her flat, Sam fumbled in her handbag for her key. She put it in the lock, eying Tony uncertainly.
    “Uh, I’m really tired—”
    “Miss Clark. Oh, Miss Clark.”
    The singsong voice interrupted her polite dismissal. Sam turned toward her neighbor. Miss Hunnicott came down the hall, her sensible shoes clumping on the worn Oriental runner. In her hand she