Socransky’s face broke into an inscrutable smile as he thought of an answer. Finally he said, “What do you think, Inspector?”
“Damn it, Socransky! There you go, answering a question with one of your own!” I shouted back.
The young tenor took a step forward and gently said to Helena, “Give me your hand — ” Taking hold of it, he placed her hand in mine, folding the two hands together ceremoniously, like a priest. “There now,” he said. “With the powers vested in me by the God of vast improbabilities, I hereby declare the two of you inseparable.”
I thought I saw tears forming in the corners of Helena’s eyes but a moment later a faint half-smile played about her lips, and in her eyes I caught what looked like a flicker of surrender.
Could she possibly be resigning herself to yet more of me? I wondered.