The door slid shut behind Samantha. She stood still a moment, standing in a shaft of starlight in the combined sunroom and conservatory, and picked out the silhouette of Marc and Aiyra, seated on a garden bench halfway beneath the draping roses.
“You asked for me, sir?”
“I did,” Marc acknowledged, arising to greet her.
“Do you recall,” he said, moving around the bench, “how I said I might right the discrepancy of knowledge between us?”