At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. Lucy looked down, noticing that Michelle had left her shoes in the entryway. His eyes glowed beneath the glasses and his blue buttondown shirt was reflected in the lenses. “I hope nothing is wrong. ‘Am I right in supposing you to have been a sister to the late Mr Jarvis Remenham?’ ‘Quite right. It is an Occidental point of view. There wasn’t, I know, between myself and my father. ” She looked at him quizzically.
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