He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. Not daring, however, to listen to it, he ran on. She got out of bed, her eyes still half-closed, and stood slack jawed. ‘What do you mean?’ Gerald grinned. Only now it does not matter at all because Joan has come and has seen me. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. She did her best to do this. ’ ‘You mean monsieur le baron, the General Charvill, my grandfather?’ Melusine laid aside on the table the letter she had been studying and turned so that the frame of her nun’s wimple no longer obscured her view.
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