Chapter Seven“It’s like a miracle!” Melita exclaimed.
She was sitting at the breakfast table looking across the garden to the sea.
“What is?” the Comte enquired, dropping the newspaper he had been glancing through after he had finished eating.
What, Melita thought, could be more beautiful than the garden with its brilliant flowers and the sunshine glinting on the leaves of the shady trees that were silhouetted against the vivid blue of the sky?
The fragrance of freshly ground coffee and the aroma of newly baked croissants mingled with the scent of the flowers and her happiness was part of the beauty and the light around her.
She turned at the Comte’s question to smile at him.
“When the ship which carried me from England came into harbour,” she replied, “I was afraid – afraid of arriv
