Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. Mike answered the door while still toweling his hands dry. He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. The eggs were all right, but nobody in this part of the world had the least conception of what the coffee bean was for. ‘Pardon, mademoiselle, but perhaps your father went to England, after all, and —’ ‘My father went to Italy,’ interrupted Melusine, her heart tightening with the familiar sensation of loss.
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