“Excuse me one moment, Frances,” she said, and she stepped out into the hallway to take the call.

And in that moment, with her back turned, I did the one bold thing I had planned while pretending to fumble with my glasses.

My heart was hammering so hard I was half afraid she would hear it from the hallway.

I am ninety years old; I am not built for intrigue; my hands are not as steady as they were, and they were not steady now.

But I thought of Lawrence, and of the letter in my handbag, and of his steady voice telling me he had never once let me fall, and I made my old fingers do what they needed to do.