In keeping with the rest of the house Catherine's bedroom was a fantasyland of living playing cards painting rosebushes white and strong pink against puff ball clouds and vivid green leaves.
Brought to a standstill, I said weakly, “Lovely,” and Catherine laughed.
“You hate it, I can see.”
“I can shut my eyes,” I said, but we pulled the curtains closed.
We made love there in Pernickety Paul's honor but, in the evening, after the party in the pub, when Detective Constable Dodd and her pillion rider climbed back on the saddle, it was to the big quiet house on the hill that they went.
It was like coming familiarly home.