His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. ‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. . ’ ‘But you are excessively clever, Jacques,’ cried Melusine, relief flooding her. “Only married a few months ago and lived out at Hampstead. “I am so sorry to have startled you,” she said, “but I was startled myself.
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