There were five others: a stout German couple with a grown but still gangly daughter, a middle-aged Englishwoman in sensible tweeds, and a tall, stooped Scotsman with a thick beard and ginger hair. Laura was glad none of them were French. Even if she spoke the language well, she wouldn’t fool a native for very long.While they waited for Nigel, she tried to get into character mentally. Think like Madame Merlin and you will be her, the Baroness had told them. Catherine seemed to have managed the task already. Her shoulders were slumped, her mouth slightly open, her eyes pointed at the floor. She kept fiddling with her hair, pulling strands in front of her face as if she were searching for insects.Irritated, Laura told her to stop. “Arrete-toi!” she hissed. “C’est insolent!”Catherine glanced at her, dropped her eyes again and shrugged. Really, Laura thought, she was almost too invested in her role.Nigel began to speak, and after that she barely noticed Catherine, or Patrice. He was an excellent host.
