It isn’t. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. Drummond had made an abominable mistake. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. Father had traveled to Florence to the Mercato Nuovo, staying away for a half year at a time paying court to the house of the silk merchant Iovelli, which was patronized by none other than the Medicis. Then to the Dean's Head, in St. ’ ‘Merci, Gérard,’ Melusine muttered under her breath, adding aloud, ‘And the major, he will also wish that you let me go to see Jacques. Before a month has elapsed, your mother will be mine. He lives near the Black Lion.
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