She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. We fetched the doctor and the police. Not so Gosse. Lucy looked at her with a small measure of pity. A woman touched him lightly on the arm, and smiled into his face. ‘But if there is one, how in the world did this mystery lady of yours know of it?’ ‘That, Lucy, is precisely the point that has been exercising my mind,’ Gerald said, turning his eyes once more to the group of French exiles in the alcove. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. She looked at him gravely and squinted.
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