broken crystal, and pierced the darkening cloud mass with spears of glittering brilliance. In an instant it had become an unearthly sky, the kind that presaged, or followed, a thunderstorm, and to Nick it was perfectly beautiful.
He did not mind the rain and fog and greyness of London in the midst of winter. Unlike Victor, who missed the sunshine and balmy breezes of Southern California, Nick loved England’s inclement weather and changing seasons. Perhaps because it reminded him of New York and his childhood, and also of his years at Oxford University. Salad days. A wave of nostalgia swept over him. For no reason at all, his thoughts turned to Francesca Cunningham. Now she was really something else. There’s a lot more to that one than meets the eye, he thought.
Nick tapped Victor’s shoulder and said, with a soft laugh, ‘Lazarus was a bit hard on Francesca, wasn’t he? I’d hardly call her insipid. I think she’s quite a dazzler!’
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