Rooms here might be either a disappointment or a relief, she knew, looking around, depending on how the lobby décor grabbed you. Lilacs and lavenders were dialed down, the furniture blond wood, the only once-edgy touch provided by acrylic bedside and coffee tables in a deep shade of burnt orange-peel. A bigger room than she’d previously seen here. Glimpsing another adjacent, a woman just entering from it. "Caitlin Bertrand," she said, resembling, as Verity recalled a gossip site having put it, a young but brutally determined Françoise Hardy. "Pleased to meet you."