I slipped the card inside my bodice, where the cream envelope had pressed against my ribs that morning, and it lay flat there beside the note I had folded into a square no bigger than a coin, so that I was carrying both of my warnings against my heart.
By the time Alexander came out of the study I was back on the terrace with a fresh glass in my hand and the smile of a bride who had only gone to look at the roses.
"There you are," he said, and I flinched, because Graham had said it in exactly that tone, and I covered the flinch by lifting my glass.
"Graham walked me down to the garden," I said. "He wished me well."
It was true in every word, and I heard how neatly the words had been arranged, and I disliked the woman who had arranged them.
"Did he," said Alexander, and he looked towar
