She liked the way John Beecham called her Margaret. It was as if he knew it meant pearl, as if he were calling her his pearl when he said it, meaning she was beautiful, a miracle, gleaming. She liked to hear him speak, his accent not hers but recognizable, something from home that was good. She liked to see his dark eyes follow her, watching her own eyes first and then falling to her lips, the hint of her décolletage, the subtle sway of her hips. He moved so gracefully, with such confidence. She hadn’t wanted to be Castillon’s mistress.