He handed over Matt’s batch of envelopes and newspapers and shook his head in response to Phil’s enquiry. No, there was nothing for the senhora. See, the plantation packet was secured separately with string, and there were just these few for the Senhores Drew and Crawford. He was sorry, but in a fortnight there might be more letters. Matt said, “What d’you want money for ... a new dress for the Astartes’ party? It’s a month away. I’ll get you some silk.” “Damn the party,” she answered. “I just want to be independent—not tied to that log cabin and Julian’s bounty. You’ll let me pay a little of what I owe, but he never will. I hate him.” “Your perspective’s all wrong. He’s the big boss and you happen to be one of his minor responsibilities,” Matt told her, brutally casual. “Count yourself lucky that he’s treated you so well. Here, take this bundle of magazines and let me have them back when you’ve finished with them.
