The Manhattan Puzzle. Laurence O’Bryan

she caught a glimpse of herself, hunched over, in the mirror in the hall. She looked haunted.

      Bzzz. Bzzz.

      An urge to end the call gripped her, as if she was a teenager ringing a boy for the first time. She pressed the phone tighter to her ear.

      ‘Hello.’ A jolt of recognition passed through her. It was George’s voice. This was his mobile number. As the cogs in her brain turned she opened her mouth, closed it again. Nothing came out. Then a panicky feeling hit her.