‘I am glad it is you, because you can help me. “Was it terrible for you after he died?” “Don’t worry yourself about it John. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. ‘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. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. ‘I do not know of whom you speak.
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