Her aunt returned before the packing was done, and Ann Veronica lunched with an uneasy sense of bag and hold-all packed up-stairs and inadequately hidden from chance intruders by the valance of the bed. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. He had grabbed a tiny remote control and flew the thing around the table, landing it there and turning it off. I had left Paris. With thinly veiled glee, Michelle described a rumor she had heard about John at a recent party.
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