Gerald was conscious of that sliver of irritation again at mention of the name. They stood for a moment in the passage and listened. He stood back and held her shoulders. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. "Not the sort of stories young ladies should read. I want to know who sent you those. He looked just as Julian had the night she had first met him outside the Joliet Laundromat. Very good. It was said, that he received an affront from James, in the shape of a public reprimand, which his pride could not forgive. Hadn’t the stomach to admit the truth, had he? I’ll lay any money he labelled you with some foul French name as well. ’ ‘Oh, she is English?’ repeated Alderley, interest perking up.
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