Paolo got to the British Library early so he could find a place to sit which he felt wouldn’t be covered by security cameras. He texted Sofia his location.
Sofia’s trip to the Library was easy from Knightsbridge on the Piccadilly Line. Even so, she was late, of course. Paolo couldn’t mistake her. She walked, or rather swayed, in a leisurely fashion, the movement of her hips, the swish of her hair and the proud set of her head causing other heads to turn.
‘Fabulous’, thought Paolo, ‘but why the fuck does she have to draw such attention to herself!’