Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. Very well. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. ’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought. ‘Comment? What do you say?’ Gerald looked down into her face, and found himself touched by the uncertainty he saw there. ” The detective nodded. A mate? A brother-lover to tromp about the world with? “I cannot. .
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