‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. I'll tell you something. Then, if you weren’t looking, he’d get five feet closer. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. “Then turn round and go back there,” she directed. Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. But after that it was easy.
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