My car was in the hotel’s covered parking area; I couldn’t bear the extra minutes it would take to collect it.

On the ride, I tried to think of the contents of the safe in a practical order.

The cash came first because its amount was definite.

The jewelry came next because I could picture it.

The property papers should have been easier to think about, but my mind kept returning to my mother’s wedding band.

The driver asked whether I was feeling ill.

“I need to get home.”