She didn’t trust Gianfrancesco, you know, she called him a ‘bad husband’. She was strong, not unlike a pack mule or a camel; she thought to herself and smirked. “I do not know you,” she said coldly. ‘Marry an Englishman! Which Englishman?’ Melusine shrugged. He laughed once or twice at himself as he paced backwards and forwards. In each pause she could sense his growing trepidation. The particulars of her engagement were very clear in her memory. Always. ‘You were his daughter. How dare you use my name and sing my songs?” Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement.
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