“There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. Gerald shook his head. Bought her a nose job for her sixteenth birthday along with a car, I forget what model, but it was a nice car, a Mercedes convertible. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. 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. Her mother…. ” She laughed. ‘I have justice. ‘Do please continue,’ Gerald begged, deceptively docile.
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