She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. ‘And you come to me, thinking yourself half French, and expect me to take you in. Plays Beethoven, Rubenstein and all those chaps. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. But I never seen Mr Charvill, and when the Frenchie come out, I followed him again, like you told me. The constable, Sharples, is in my pay.
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