'From London, or some place close to it,' Anana said knowingly.

Kara shook her head in wonder. 'A town just north of London called Camden. How could you possibly know that?'

Anana smiled, broadly. 'Guiseppe told my husband's father that you're a romantic, so it seemed obvious to me that since you'd run away, you'd go to someplace that someone had made sound romantically idyllic to you.'

'And your father-in-law warned me that there was no keeping a secret from you,' Kara said as Anana laughed. 'I can see now why.'

'Don't worry, I'm not a gossip,' Anana rejoined with mock asperity. 'Oh dear, the children are starting to give the larder rather pointed looks. I'm afraid that I'll have to help out as best I can as you make their lunch.'

Not much used to children, Kara found herself a bit overwhelmed by their seemingly boundless, noisy energy, and impressed by the calm and relaxed manner of Anana who seemed always in perfect control of the lot of them. When they were finally alone once more with the small children and Anana's Michel, and seated on a bench on the veranda where they could keep an eye on things, Kara took a deep breath and let out a long stream of air.

'Don't they ever get tired? Even between doing their chores and playing together they never seem to stop running!' As she said this, without thinking Kara tacitly responded to a dark-eyed little girl's imploring look and lifted the child onto her lap.

Anana smiled to herself as Kara did this. 'You really have never been around children before! Where on earth have you been? Locked away in a convent?'

'Almost!' Kara said. 'That is one of the reasons I ran away.'

'Ugh!' Anana gave a little shudder. 'You did well to get away. Why on earth were you sent there?'

Kara sighed unhappily. 'My father wanted me to marry a rich friend of his who is old enough to be my grandfather. The man is an old, greasy pig, who can't keep his filthy hands off the women! I wasn't going to let him touch me, let alone own me.'

'Your father, if you don't mind my saying so, sounds like he has the manners of the nouveau riche. How did he make his money?'

'My father,' Kara said tightly, 'is a war profiteer. He profited from the deaths of millions in the Great War, on both sides. He has factories in Europe, Africa, America and the Indes. As he is fond of telling anyone who will listen: no matter who goes to war with whom, he will make a profit.' She sighed. 'He is my father, but he is a dangerous, evil man. And he is after me because I refused to be the sort of marionette on strings he likes to surround himself with. My escaping him, in his eyes, reflects badly on his ability to control others, so he will stop at nothing to trap me and put me back in a cage for the rest of my life, and parade me about as an example and a warning to others.'




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