She was alarmed at how little her husband Gianfrancesco packed for the trip, leaving behind his best scarlet and black lucco, which he wore for every business and political meeting. ’ It had not before occurred to him, but this realisation fuelled the general’s growing conviction that he was being imposed upon in some way. “When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. Gianfrancesco found himself to be his family’s sole remaining male heir. His frowning gaze came back to her. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. Mind, I am anticipating events. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive.
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