‘I do not know how you think you may help me,’ she said slowly. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. 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. . One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth. A swift frown brought the still dark brows together for a moment. How did you meet him?’ ‘He was wounded and came to the convent for sanctuary,’ Melusine told him, stung by his criticism into revealing more than she had intended. His lips were tight drawn. Jonathan mixed with the group, and, sure of his prey, abided his time. “I heard the clock strike as I crossed the square,” she answered.
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