Born Out Of Love. Anne Mather

halting below her, one bare foot raised to rest on the verandah steps, his eyes coolly assessing her. ‘Did you sleep well?’

      Charlotte saw no reason to lie to him. ‘Not very,’ she conceded shortly, noticing the shadow of the unshaven chin. Then: ‘Do you know where Madame Fabergé is?’

      ‘As I haven’t spent the night with her, I can’t be sure, but I’d hazard a guess that she was still in bed,’ he remarked insolently. ‘Would you like me to find out?’