VII
The fear that someone had known her secret kept Lena apprehensive during the days that followed. But, for that, she could only condemn her stupidity. On Sunday morning, she had already decided not to go to the horse show, pretending she had a terrible migraine. It would have been unbearable to attend with people who were chatting behind her back.
“Dihando Wilkum, uzierò. Good morning, princess,” Lula said.
The house cleaner had entered the room and moved the heavy damask curtains, to let the sunlight in.
“Selam! Peace! Lula,” Lena stretched. “Why are you calling me princess like Sergeant Jallon?”
“I tell the sergeant that you are a noble Italian princess.”
“That’s not true, Lula. My grandfather was only an Earl and my dad did not inherit the title because he was the youngest son.
