She’d glimpsed them talking together, flirting as much as they dared under the stern eye of Greta. He approached the bed and touched her hip. She j...mped. Walter chuckled. ‘Sorry, love. Did I startle you?’ She didn’t answer. What to do? If she spoke, told him she wasn’t Daisy, he would demand to know who she was and all would be undone. ‘You haven’t come to my cabin,’ he said. ‘Is it Greta?’ ‘Yes,’ Constance whispered, keeping her voice a toneless hiss. ‘She said I mustn’t go to you.’. Before her lay papers, notebooks and pens, as well as a phone, a decorative lamp, and various office supplies. Across from her desk sat another woman with dirty blonde curly hair that fell over her shoulders in soft ringlets. She was dressed casually, in a worn pair of jeans and a pink and black sweater. She was shapely, and well endowed. “Momma died when I was only eight years old. It hurt my daddy bad. Daddy always told me I looked just like Momma. She was so pretty, and I don't think I'm. More

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