I had originally intended to hole up at Maia's until any spies had gone home to their own sleazy burrows, then slide back to the Falco residence. I should have done it. I shall never know whether anything would have been different if I did. But there must be a chance that if I had gone to my own apartment that night instead of bedding down at my sister's, it would have saved a life.
August.
Sultry nights and steamy tempers. A few hours later I was awake again, too hot and too wretched to relax. A bad time of year for men with troubled spirits and women who were enduring difficult pregnancies. I thought about Helena, making my heartache worse as I wondered whether she too was lying sleepless in this sticky heat, and if so, whether she was thinking of me.
Next morning I woke late. Maia kept a peaceful house.
Tossing all night in my clothes never bothered me. But I had taken against the washed-out tunic I'd put on yesterday. I became obsessed with the hope of changing this dull rag for a livelier shade of grey.
Since I could not risk colliding with Anacrites' scabs at my apartment, I persuaded my sister to go there instead.
'Just call in at the laundry. Don't go up; I don't want them to follow you home. But Lenia's bound to have some clothes of mine to collect-'
'Give me the money to settle your account then,' ordered Maia, who had a good understanding of the customer relations Lenia enjoyed with me.