She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. ‘French? But what else?’ ‘I do not like Frenchmen,’ Melusine snapped. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. Beneath the hood it was evident that her rebellious hair was bound up with red silk, and fastened by some device in her ears (unless she had them pierced, which was too dreadful a thing to suppose!) were long brass filigree earrings. ‘We needn’t murder Lucia. The young officer sat in front, his hat perfectly straight. Businesswomen in pointy-toed shoes swooned coyly in his direction, tipping their noses over their glossy magazines to admire 273 him. ‘Besides, I don’t want the men blundering in here and frightening off our spy.
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