At all. When she does finally speak it comes out as more of a whimper: "So, there's no other Count here, at all?" "‘Fraid not," he says, giving her a grin. "You look like you're about to cry. Am I really that gross?" She shakes her head as she dabs her eyes with a tissue and blows her nose in a great big unladylike snort. "If it's any comfort your letters cheered me up enormously." "Kate wrote them," Eva says, pointing in my direction. "Ah, yes, that makes more sense," he says cryptically, raking back his hair. Then he goes over and pokes the logs in the stove until they start to spark. First he makes us both a cup of tea and then he sits down beside us, as if there was no more to say about the whole business, and starts chopping carrots. Sitting in the warm kitchen, all time is suspended. I know Eva's fed up at not seeing the Count, but I couldn't be happier. This new Count is more complex, more mysterious and sexier than the original Count ever was. And I wrote to him, didn't I? He's not a total stranger after all.
