She is something different. . She whipped round suddenly, and discovered the woman wedged into the corner by the window, keeping out of the way. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. Gerald went through all the papers in front of Gosse and that woman of his, one by one. “You have them both,” Anna answered. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. She fell into another depression, refusing to touch Sebastian or call him husband when he demanded it. ‘You’ll come with us and get yourself safe back home to your convent, understand?’ ‘But wait,’ begged Melusine, hanging back. Once upon a time she and Roddy had descended thence by the drain-pipe. Already the warm sun was drawing from the pines their delicious odour. Gerald liked her enormously. ‘I thought—I thought I saw my—my husband.
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