Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. Good riddance to bad rubbish. . With his arms bare, the neckband of his shirt tucked in, he laboured. She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced. ’ ‘Then Gérard may come back,’ Melusine cried involuntarily on a sudden rising hope. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. It was not quite the search I intended,’ he said with a touch of selfmockery as he released her, ‘but success comes in all sorts of unexpected ways. “I get that a lot. And yet, she would be easy prey in her present state of mind to any plausible, attractive scoundrel. The practice has been common for thousands of years.
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