‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down. Most of the tables were for those who smoked only and drank wine, but there were a few spread with tablecloths and laid for dinner. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind. And I have seen work by his pupils myself that struck me as being—well, next door to shameful. “Thank Heaven, they are bringing the hors d’oeuvres.
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