She could feel Martin’s eyes boring into her as she entered the room, her own personal Farhat. ‘That’s my pet name. ‘Me, I am Mademoiselle Charvill, the granddaughter of Monsieur Jar-vis Re-men-ham. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. At that time, we were beneath the sway of Anne: we are now at the commencement of the reign of George the First. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. ’ ‘No, no, go and fetch the men to the house. Almost had Martha won out.
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