But there was an additional certainty—that as soon as you got into a hot and longed-for bath the phone would ring. Just as it was doing at this very moment. Yet for once she would not be scrambling out, cursing and reaching for a towel in order to obey its summons because—oh joy, oh bliss—it was not her phone. Whoever it was at the other end could speak to the answering machine. Of course, it might be Lynne calling to check that she was settling in and that all was well, but if so she’d leave a message too. And later, when Marin was bathed and fed, she’d ring back and thank her stepsister yet again for offering her this temporary bolt hole with so few questions asked. Up to now, at least, she thought wryly. Lynne was three years her senior, and since their parents had retired to a villa beside a golf course in Portugal she’d taken her elder-sister role very seriously indeed.
