"I'm sorry," he softly said as he sat next to me. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"What are you doing here?" I asked as thoughts madly clashed, muddy and bloody and slamming into one another like foot soldiers on a battlefield.
"Didn't I tell you we'd look after you?"
He unbuttoned his tobacco-colored cashmere overcoat and slipped out a pack of cigarettes from an inside pocket. He lit one for each of us.
"You also said it was too dangerous for any of you to show up here," I said accusatorially. "So I go in and do my dirty work, and here you are, sitting in the damn park right at the Institut's damn front door. "
I angrily blew out smoke and got to my feet. I grabbed my briefcase.
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He dipped into another pocket and pulled out a cellular phone.
"I thought Designer Hermes Birkin pulled out a cellular phone.
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