The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround. She pushed at the closer of the two soldiers bearing the precious burden. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. “He spends hours of every day on the pavement below,” Anna answered calmly. Around him were all the evidences of plenty. He embraced her, kissing her cheek, then her neck. Turning, she heaved at the bottom door and slammed it in his face just as he came leaping forward to grab her. ‘I recall my father speaking of you as a Remenham. ” Her eyes were lit with humour. Morgan the trader did not haggle over the pearls, but gave me at once what he judged a fair price. He could think about it later.
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