“I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. Nor as I’ve to put up with a French spy in my parlour—’ ‘Peste, how you talk,’ interrupted Melusine impatiently, barely taking in his complaints. As a matter of fact it isn’t their affair. He could not promise that she would ever appear again in that house. Mike was draped over the laminate kitchen counter, on the phone as usual. She disengaged her hands and stood up. Gosse, if he had any sense, would immediately seek out the Remenham lawyers. “Yes,” he said, “I want to get away.
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