Brendon,” Anna said. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. Rousing himself, he went to the door. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. A woman isn’t much freer—in reality. ‘No one is here, Melusine, except you and I. I have a few regular patients, and I take care of them in the morning.
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