Try and consider me your elder brother, or an old family friend, whichever you like best. ’ ‘Oh, this is becoming nonsensical,’ exclaimed Lucilla. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen. As he balanced the photograph, a humorous twinkle came into his eyes. Her usual dignified reserve had availed her nothing.
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