Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night. Lucy could see the resemblance of Martin to both of his parents as plain as day. He drove to his apartment, a second floor studio he 120 was renting above a bakery. “What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. “I’ve been playing since I was five, Lucy! You’re just more talented than I am. ‘I suppose this is the cavalier you had with you when you—er—attended the ball the other night?’ ‘Jacques is very useful to me,’ Melusine confirmed, bestowing that same radiant smile on the young man, whose features were instantly suffused with scarlet.
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