"Freddie," Eduardo beamed. "Come! This is Viktor and this," he gestured to the woman, "is his wife, Ilsa."Clegg joined them at the table. "Mr Lazlo, a... honour. I've heard much of your efforts," he lied, shaking Viktor's hand. "Mrs Lazlo, a delight." That, at least, was true — Ilsa managed to draw every eye in the room towards herself. If Clegg had been asked to explain why he would have found it difficult; her flawless complexion, perhaps; her look of complete openness; the way she moved.. She was stooped and a little shriveled with age. She wore a plain black dress that was so long the hem dragged in the dirt and a brightly striped little porkpie hat that set on her head at such a jaunty angle it was rather disconcerting on one so ancient.In the mornings, she worked in her little garden, a well-worn bit of earth just out back of her humble cottage. She grew herbs and other botanicals that she used to make medicinal unctions and cosmetic creams, as well as potions of a more. More

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