As she reached the entrance, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “Are you coming with me?” she asked. There was something that puzzle... me. She looked confused and slightly scared, which wasn’t typical of her. Her eyes were boring into mine, as if she was trying to read my thoughts. “Of course, if you don’t mind my company…my dear Miss.” “You are so kind to me…sir,” she said and playfully stuck out her tongue at me. “Oh my God! What have they done to you, my poor child?” an old. Then she crossed to where I was standing and chatted for a few minutes. About a yachting gala or something. After what I had just witnessed, I had trouble following her conversation.There was a knock on the heavy cellar door and another frightened looking slave-girl appeared. Obviously terrified of falling foul of Patricia's anger. She quickly approached us, knelt and offered up a tray holding that jug of lemonade with a glass. There must have been almost a litre of juice left.?That useless. More

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