’ ‘Then who is this Englishman?’ demanded Gerald on a sceptical note. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her. Earles,” she exclaimed. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears.
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