Her pulse was racing. And she ought to freshen her make-up. She wanted to look her best for Mr. Johnson. And his friends, too, of course. Entering the...door to his office, she glanced around quickly, curious to see who was there. Mr. Johnson, of course, and Dr. Schmidt, as usual. And three others. These, she wasn’t able to identify. Their faces were blurry and to be frank, she wasn’t comfortable looking to closely. Mr. Johnson had explained how this was for her sake, so she wouldn’t feel awkward. The stern granite outcrop that gave Falcon Bay its name brooded over the harbor like some protective stone idol. ‘Constance?’ She turned, strands of golden hair tossed into her face by the errant breeze, and saw Jean-Pierre. A peculiar shyness swept her. He had not been present yesterday, not that she could see, while the absolute ruination of the deGranvilles was taking place on that platform in the courtyard. Nor had she much seen him since that night when he and Michel had enjoyed Marie in. More

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