‘But I don’t trust you an inch. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. ‘You’ve cause to be grateful to Gerald, then. Perhaps, after all, the others were right. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. Gosse was backing towards the table. Ramage came for her at her lodgings, and she met him graciously and kindly as a queen who knows she must needs give sorrow to a faithful liege. “You, too,” he said abruptly. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before.
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