Lucy cringed, her eyes widening. For a long time she surveyed a row of towering holly-hocks, as though they offered an explanation. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. “Please go and see that—nothing happens,” she pleaded. “I want to lay all my life at your feet. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. ’ ‘But I am not stopping you from carrying on your business.
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