“Are we interrupting anything?” “No!” Martin jumped slightly. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. The air was crisp and dry. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable. “It’s like this,” he said, and dragged a stool beside her and sat down with his elbow four inches from hers and made a sketch. Now, will you do me the honour of lunching with me, Miss Pellissier?” Anna hesitated. ‘Have I not said so?’ ‘No, as it happens.
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