The next morning, Sophie was awake early, aware of sunshine streaming through the gaps in the shutters. She got up and went to open them, and saw the brilliant Philadelphian morning. The light was lifting rapidly. It was a beautiful morning; the air tickled Morgan's throat like a sharp wine as he struggled to get up. He was having a hangover of Wagnerian proportions due to the countless glasses of wine he had drunk the previous day and immediately regretted his actions. He had a cold shower and came out with renewed vigor and determination.
He surveyed himself in the mirror before going out of his room and found Sophie seated at the dining table. She was wearing a fresh bed jacket of powder blue with a silk shawl embroidered with pink roses flung across her knees, its long fringe brushing the floor."We leave at dusk," Morgan said, joining her at the table. Sophie gave a perfunctory nod and carried on eating the last piece of strudel. The air was filled with the sweetness of mimosa and the copper pans hanging above the mantelpiece gave out a soft, warm sheen like dulled gold.
Sophie wallowed in the luxury of the villa, as she was aware that this could be their last day here. Chances of making it out of Trenton's mansion alive were almost nil. The atmosphere seemed to vibrate with tension as dusk fell quickly. Morgan surveyed himself in the mirror again before going out after Sophie. He grabbed his car keys and locked the door behind him. They drove away slowly to avoid arousing suspicion and Sophie was the first to speak, in a sonorous voice, "You seem to have lived for years in a perpetual state of fear. How bad can Trenton be?"
"Trust me. You don't want to know."
"Then why don't you just snipe him or report him to the authorities."
"Your suggestions verge on the outrageous."
"Why?"
"That would only be a partial solution to the problem. The evidence we have as of now is not detailed enough to sustain our argument."
"I was wondering. If you hadn't become an assassin, what would you have become instead?"
"I don't know. A priest maybe, join the parish or seminary and in years to come, people would be talking about Morgan Adil Baxter, sometime vicar of this parish."
"And you would be dressed in somber shades of grey and black day in, day out. I'm sure some of your friends would be pretty wild and whacky if you ever did that." They both laughed and Sophie spoke again, "I'm just glad you agreed to help me."
"Yes." There was, all at once, a terrible lump in his throat, and his eyes filled and brimmed with painful tears, "Yes, I'm glad too." He said as the car came to a halt a short distance away from Trenton's mansion. The town was, on this insalubrious night, nearly empty of people; the deserted streets gleamed wetly with reflected light, and the gutters ran with water. They had plunged into a warren of baffling lanes and alleys, at one time emerging out on to the road which circled the harbor, only to turn back once more into the maze of cobbled roads and uneven, haphazard houses before they finally got to Trenton's place.
All was seemly and respectable. Lace curtains veiled windows, and there could be glimpsed statuettes of girls with dogs, or large green pots containing aspidistras. "We're here." He switched off the engine, and Sophie could hear the wind and, above its whine, the nearby sound of the sea. Great breakers thundered up on to the sand, and there was the long hiss of the retreating waves.
"So, what do we do now?" Sophie asked.
"We have to get him to confess."
"But how?"
"Leave it to me." He unfastened his seat belt, put an arm around her and hugged her. She looked delighted; then he gave her a final, cheerful grin, and so departed.