There was no rush. In the beginning it was a dictionary. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. “If you cannot listen to me now it must remain undelivered. “That was a moment of madness,” she said. “Maybe someday I can look them up again, just to see how they are doing. ” John peered at her as she went to him. ’ Chapter Nine As she devoured the simple meal of bread and cheese, and several slices of cold roast beef, the whole washed down with a poor sort of coffee, Melusine listened with avid interest to the details of her mother’s life as revealed by the exclamatory conversation of Joan Ibstock. His face darkened. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said.
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