English
Outside, a cold wind blew around Carol's legs. She pulled her beige spring coat closer--it was chillier in Bordeaux than she had thought it would be. This street had few cars and none of them were taxis. She thought about going back inside and phoning one, but then the lights of the restaurant went out and when she peered through the lace curtains she couldn't see anyone inside.
A main street's only a block away and, no doubt, my police protection is still lurking, she assured herself.
She turned into the wind, heading down the low hill towards the brighter lights. Even before reaching the corner, she heard a car behind. It was a taxi. She waved and the driver slowed.
"The Royal Medoc," she told him, closing the door.
He pulled away immediately.
A little drunk from two glasses of wine and the liqueur, Carol rested her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. Instantly a vision of the attacker appeared on her eyelids so she opened her eyes briefly but then closed them again.