Her new husband was pleased to watch the astonished look on her face as tray after tray appeared on the grand table, each better than the next. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. “Oh Christ! How old were you?” “Just—well, I was young. . “Aren’t we all just odds and ends of humanity —the left-overs, you know.
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