Noel remembered the time he was being stalked by journalists in his past life. It had been a hectic month for him.
He had to move to hotels and safe houses. He managed to get rid of them and stop them from stalking him.
He shook his head and tried not to think about those terrible times.
He lifted his eyes and scanned through the station.
The inside smelled of tobacco and damp wool and something underneath both that Noel couldn't name and didn't particularly want to.
The desk officer looked up when he came in — a middle-aged man with a grey moustache and the expression of someone who had been doing this long enough to be surprised by very little.
Noel stated his business.
The officer looked at him. Looked at his clothes — the dark grey coat, the white cravat, the general bearing of someone from a house with a name. Made a calculation.
"Twenty minutes," he said. "You'll be accompanied."
"Understood," Noel said.
