The house was eerily silent, which alerted her to the idea that someone might be listening. But with Gosse and the woman in prison here, there is always the chance that the whole affair may be raked up all over again. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. They had asked her to come to the first of the two great annual Fadden Dances, the October one, and Ann Veronica had accepted with enthusiasm. Talked about his years, his position and his constituents, and always sneaked off back to his hotel just when the fun was going to begin. Likely as not outside the law, too. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. “There is my aunt,” she said.
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