In the Dead of Night 32#

I feigned a trip and threw a dry Martini over Allegra’s blouse - she looked daggers but it was enough to get us to the restroom where I calmed her down, explaining all.. She also had become increasingly unsettled, having nasty thoughts, like being sucked into forced prostitution whilst Salvatore clearly had no need of me.
We squeezed through a window, distancing ourselves from the wretched place with great relief, erecting our fly sheet under a starlit heaven.
The next morning looking over our shoulders we boarded the ferry for Greece with no apparent pursuit. Hitchhiking is not all plain sailing.