“Because I hate you!” She spat. Advancing towards Wood, Jonathan fixed his keen gray eyes upon him, and demanded, in a stern tone whether the persons who had taken refuge in the adjoining house, were bailiffs. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. ‘Can’t you trust me a little?’ His touch sent shivers running through her, but Melusine did not withdraw her hand.
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