Yesterday Never Dies. Brian Stableford

not in legal wedlock...but by then, I would be no further use to Saint-Germain, and he would not want me.”

      She sounded oddly desolate while making that speech—perhaps, I thought, because she could not think without a certain sadness about the prospect of Saint-Germain no longer wanting her, even though she did not want him to have her. She was rambling slightly, showing the effects of tiredness. I wished, belatedly, that I had offered to make a pot of tea—but the time had passed by now.

      I felt that I could speak again, but I had no idea what to say. In the event, I did not have to improvise, because the doorbell rang.

      “Who is it?” she asked, fearfully. Reflexively, she reached for her domino, although she could not have imagined that it would provide adequate protection against recognition by anyone she knew.

      There was a certain angle through which I could look through the window and catch a glimpse of the person at the door, although it required a rather ungainly contortion. I looked.

      “It’s Saint-Germain,” I told her.

      I should have been amazed. Saint-Germain was not in the habit of calling on me, in spite of his insistence that we were friends, and I could not imagine why he should be doing so this morning.

      “How does he know that I’m here?” she lamented.

      “Perhaps he doesn’t,” I said. “Even if he does, I can send him away.” I knew from past and recent experience, however, that Saint-Germain could be a difficult man to put off.

      Jana Valdemar clutched at the straw, eagerly. “Perhaps he doesn’t,” she echoed. “Is there somewhere I might hide, until he’s gone?”

      “Upstairs,” I said. “Bihan will come back eventually, but there’s no reason for him to go up there, and even if he does, he won’t give you away. You know the way, I believe.”

      She ignored the hint of sarcasm. “Thank you,” she said, apparently sincerely. I didn’t bother to point out, knowing that she could hardly miss the observation, that because the stairway had a one-hundred-and-eighty degree turn halfway up, she would be able to hear what Saint-Germain and I were saying if she were prepared to take the risk of sitting on the lowest step of the second half of the flight, out of sight behind the banisters.

      I had no idea why I had abruptly entered into a tacit conspiracy with her, but I think it had far more to do with her mention of the word “rape” in connection with Saint-Germain than any shared experience in confrontation with the Dweller with the Eyes of Fire. In any case, had I not already taken her side, by warning her at the Comique that Saint-Germain was present?

      I answered the door.