“They are nothing but jackals,” she whispered to Gardenia. “If they knew the truth they would be at us, picking the very flesh from our bones.”
“I know,” Gardenia murmured unhappily.
It was difficult to feel that she was not acting in a very bad play.
She strolled with her aunt through the gardens with their bright colourful beds of flowers and trickling silvery streams. The leaves of the palm trees were rustling overhead in the faint breeze from the sea.
It was very warm and the Duchesse was panting by the time they had reached the main shopping street. They found a small café and ate a frugal meal of coffee and fresh croissants. The Duchesse looked longingly at the bottles behind the bar, but with what Gardenia realised was a tremendous effort she did not ask for a drink.
“I must ha
