|The Maison Carrée|
|The Temple of Diana (exterior)|
|Doorway of the Temple|
|Imagine Charity sitting and leaning against a pillar|
“Aren’t you well?”
I opened my eyes with a start.
A man had come into the temple, so quietly that I had not heard him approach. He was standing over me now, frowning at me.
“What’s the matter? The heat?” He spoke with a sort of reluctant consideration, as if he felt constrained to offer help, but hoped to God I wasn’t going to need it.
I knew there were tears on my eyelashes and felt a fool.
“I’m all right, thanks,” I said crisply. “I was only resting, and enjoying being alone.”
He raised his eyebrows at that, and the corner of his mouth twitched sourly. “I’m sorry.”
|Interior of the Temple; you can see my mother on the right|
“Where did you meet this David Shelley?”
I heard it then. I stopped with my cigarette half-way to my lips and looked at him. His hand was quite steady as he flicked the ash from his cigarette, and his face showed no expression. But there was a look behind his eyes that made my heart jolt once, sickeningly.
He said again, softly almost indifferently: “Where did you meet this David Shelley?”
And looked at me with David’s eyes.
Shelley - Coleridge - Byron. I knew now. I was alone in that quiet little temple with Richard Byron, who had been acquitted of murder on the grounds of insufficient evidence, and who was looking at me now as if he would like to choke me.
He threw away his cigarette, and took a step towards me.
|Looking down on the Jardins de la Fontaine; not a lot of people|
around to help Charity so she'd better rescue herself!