We were on Westmouth Hill Road by then and starting the descent into town— about a mile’s walk. The night was cool and crisp, with hardly any clou... cover for a change. The breeze blowing up the hill from off the sea wasn’t quite as biting as it had been the past week, but there was a sense in the air that things could take a turn for the worse at any moment.That’s one thing about Westmouthshire—the weather was never boring. Winter, summer, spring or autumn. Some said the only way to tell them. The walls were papered a light pastel blue with white, pink and paleyellow ballet dancers in various dancer positions. A very large framedand signed picture of a very well known male ballet dancer was hungabove a well-stocked vanity. You could tell the dancer was wearing nogaff! His male appendage seemed huge the way the picture was taken andthe pose the dancer was in.Another wall held a large framed picture of a hardly dressed well-knownfemale singer in mid song. Rachel noticed other, smaller. More

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