In the years to come ‘uncles’ were to follow each other in quick succession.
There was Uncle François, who was, of course, French and Uncle Leon, who was a Banker.
Uncle Antonio had lasted only a short time before he returned to Rome and then there was a succession of Uncle this and Uncle that, until she found it hard to remember them.
One thing was becoming obvious, her uncles were growing older and so was her mother.
Lottie was still lovely, but there were lines under her eyes that had not been there before and she often seemed tired and listless not only in the morning but during the day as well.
“I am sure, Mama, you need a tonic,” Clova would say.
“What I need is money!” her mother unwillingly retorted.
But because Clova was really worried, she had a year ago insisted that her
