Romilly was virtually a prisoner and Joshua forbidden her presence. He was not even permitted to bid her farewell before embarking for Jamaica. ‘It’s back to the island for us, then,’ Alvina commented, already bored with Cayona, although equipped with made-to-measure gowns and accessories. ‘Who cares?’ Romilly was wallowing in self-pity. ‘Armand neither wants me nor grants me freedom. I’m in limbo and don’t know what to expect.’ Alvina looked up from supervising the packing. ‘He needles you, doesn’t he? These matters wouldn’t vex you so much if you were indifferent to him.’ ‘Poppycock!’ Romilly exclaimed, and vented her anger on Jessica who was practically useless these days, wandering around like a lovelorn loon. ‘There are wedding bells in the air,’ whispered Alvina. ‘Peter Quidley?’ ‘Who else? Do you think he has bedded her yet?’ ‘Stop it, your mind is like a cess-pit.
