‘Why did he make me French, Marthe? Why did he give me this name of Melusine, and say I am born of Suzanne Valade?’ Martha looked at her, but her lips remained firmly closed. “I’m sorry I told you that, Michelle. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. It was her foster brother Mike, on his way to the bathroom. Small, but eminently serviceable. . She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. “Put her in the trunk.
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