Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. She saw Lucy darkening her doorstep and stood from the recliner. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. ‘The more I hear about this Leonardo,’ Lucy said severely, ‘the more I want to meet your Melusine. I have suffered all this.
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