If there is, it’s a mere wrapping—there’s better underneath. She had even played in an opera by Verdi once, but had to dress as a boy to do it. Gerald liked her enormously. ‘Was you following, too, miss?’ ‘Certainly I was following. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. She wished her father and aunt would not enjoy their dinner with such quiet determination. She read the policeman’s rueful glance when she caught his refection in his rearview mirror.
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