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” She sat motionless, with her hand tightening over the edge of the table, and he, too, said no more. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. It was at lunch when McClintock announced that in the mailpouch he had found a letter addressed to Howard Taber, care of Donald McClintock and so-forth. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. You’re dealing with me now, not Gerald. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses. ’ ‘Like your father,’ Gerald put in deliberately. ‘Alors, you make a game with me, I see that.
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