A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. She remained standing stiffly, unable even to move. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. Got you interested in something, then? Would you like a peg?" "No. For an instant, Melusine watched him go. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. ’ She ended on a note of sheer frustration, clenched fists beating the air. All that was needed to complete the simile was that the girl should burst into song. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. Plus he’s a genius. ‘No, but I seen the light, sir.
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