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She made a curious movement toward her niece, then suddenly, convulsively, she dabbed down something lumpy on the table and turned to follow her brother. Winifred screamed. ‘Lord,’ Gerald uttered, his inexplicable annoyance evaporating. “You’ve no right to badger me like this, Veronica,” he said. He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. The fashions of the day have become antiquated. “It was a phase,” she said. ’ ‘What, a common soldier?’ ‘He was not a common soldier.

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