You go home and wait a century, Vee, and then try again. It was the blood she found that cemented her decision that her foster daughter was a criminal. ‘I am fascinated. Give me your name, girl!’ ‘Again?’ Mademoiselle rolled her eyes. ’ ‘Precisely,’ Gerald repeated. Her English was halting. If Emile can see him, then so also can I. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. I know less about this affair perhaps than you suppose. Years ago I marked out an intinerary for myself; but the trip never materialized. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for.
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