‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. Michelle and Missy chatted vigorously in the front seat, oblivious to both the world and other cars on the road. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. You’ll have to go back to Remenham House. ’ ‘You always were an old sobersides, even as a boy,’ retorted the major, who was close on thirty now, yet as ripe for excitement as he had been on receiving his first commission at sixteen.
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