I keep my finger on the pulse of things. Spurlock to keep to the bungalow until the rogue goes back to Copeley's. ‘Couldn’t reconcile it with my dooty to leave you here—’ A thought made Melusine stop dead, turning to him. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black. It would be easy enough for me to write an eloquent letter about something else. He had made himself master of the layout of the house, that was plain. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. Another picture slid across her vision. She heard him crash against it, and turned the key in the lock. She shuddered; the room was unfamiliar and unwelcoming.
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