BY MONDAY MORNING, Rafferty found when he opened his bedroom curtains, that the weather, so fine the previous afternoon and with the promise of more of the same as he had walked home from the pub, had done the typical ‘four seasons in one day’, for which British meteorology was renowned. And all without a hint from the weathermen. Also as usual. But at least he wouldn’t have to worry about disturbing Llewellyn’s Sunday connubial bliss in order to put his thoughts to the Welshman and get his take on the latest theories he’d come up with.
He jumped in the shower, then dressed quickly, anxious now to speak to Llewellyn and discover if he thought the theories were potential goers or if they were amongst his more off-the-wall ideas.
He found his raincoat at the bottom of the pile of coats and
