In the grate were some charred fragments of a marriage certificate. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. There were menacing possibilities; the thought of them set him a-tremble. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. Then Valade—was the man as big a fool as Nicholas?—tried again. She stood there limply and did not act to resist him. If, around noon, a coconut proa landed, the boys made no effort to unload. ’ ‘Comment? How will it serve you to kill me?’ ‘I do not need to kill you.
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