” She shook her head. ’ ‘Oui, mais—’ ‘You are, without exception, the most unprincipled, the most unscrupulous, the most shameless, immoral, devious—’ ‘Pardon me, sir,’ burst in Mrs Ibstock suddenly, her tone belligerent, bringing the captain’s tirade to an abrupt halt as he turned to glare at her. Nowhere could he see that reaching, menacing Hand. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered.
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