The drive to Miss Claire's home took just over thirty minutes, the road ahead unfolding in long, quiet stretches. The radio filled the silence with low, steady music, but neither spoke much. The only time she broke the calm was to ask, in her usual composed way, if she could smoke in the car.
Don had simply said yes.
He already knew the shape of her estate from the research he'd done before—articles, photographs, aerial shots—but seeing it in person was another matter entirely.
The road wound through heavy woodland on one side, the trees dense enough to blot out sections of the sky, while on the other, thinner stretches revealed glimpses of the coastline beyond. Sunlight shifted in brief flashes between the branches, the occasional cry of gulls cutting through the muffled hum of the engine.
