There was no need to be afraid for me. ‘Didn’t mean to say that. . ’ His head came thrusting out at Melusine like a belligerent tortoise from its shell. “I did it for love of you,” he said. Or was that perhaps because his business in Piccadilly the other day had gone awry? Perhaps Brewis Charvill had not welcomed him with open arms. Even Lucy’s bra and panties, the ubiquitous polyester underwire and matching cotton bikini briefs from Kmart, were gone. “You no longer belong to Gianfrancesco.
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