we skirted a pile of rubbish spilling out of a black plastic bag and stepped into the road . " surely ...." i hesitated " roger knows's how do you get to see marcus ?"
"oh , details ." gisela was impatien ." one can always arrange them .how did you get to see nathan ? but roger does not know and he never will . okay ?" she squeezed my elbow ." okay ?"
i crossed my fingers . " okay ."
we reached the opposite side of the street and gisela said ," i met marcus when i was eighteen and already married to nicolas , who was my godfather , you know . nicolas was fifty , but well off , concerned , generous . marcus came to catalog his collection of painting and he's been in and out of my life ever since ."
"why didn't you marry him after nicolas died ?"
gisela swiveled to halt and flicked her finger in the direction of the hermes shop window on the corner of the street . framed reverently in it , on a bed of flowing silk , was a beige birkin bag ." you get used to certain things , and marcus was very , very poor in those days . he says i'm a gold digger . he's right . i am ."
we continuted our progress up the street toward the restaurant where gisela was taking me for lunch , traffic wailing in the road , the shop windows crammed with desirable objects .
"marcus and i would have worn each other out ." she said at last ." i didn't want that , minty ." she oushed me toward a door that looked expensive ." i want to give you a good lunch ."
as i was being helped off with my coat in the plush , hushed restaurant , my mobile rang ." yes ."
"minty ." i felt the hairs on my arms rise . " it's rose ."
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