It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that. She had lost her sense of direction, and was among unfamiliar streets. They traveled to distant places, had an apartment in Constantinople and a villa in Paris. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. ‘Very well, mademoiselle, so be it,’ he snapped. You’re neither of you any longer under arrest.
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