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door of the limousine for her. “Well . . . okay, since you’re twisting my arm!”
    At the reception desk, a frock-coated hotel clerk informed Nancy that she’d had a phone call less than half an hour ago from Lady Lisa Penvellyn.
    “This is her number, Miss Drew. She asked if you’d ring her up as soon as you arrived.”
    “Thank you.”
    Lisa was ecstatic. “Oh Nancy, how good it is to hear your voice!”
    “And yours, Lisa!”
    “I can’t tell you how much I look forward to talking over old times. I’ve been counting the hours ever since Mom told me you were coming! How soon can you start for Cornwall?”
    Nancy had been prepared to leave London that afternoon after a brief rest and change of clothes. But her unexpected lunch date and a chance to see more of Lance Warrick had suddenly scrambled her plans. “Well, how about tomorrow, Lisa?”
    “Oh, good! I’ll count on that, Nan! Let me tell you how to get here. Penvellyn Castle’s located just outside a little fishing village called Polpenny on the south coast of Cornwall. You can get an express train out of Paddington Station that’ll—”
    “Whoa—let me get a pencil!” laughed Nancy.
    After she hung up, she showered and changed into a smart green and white striped silk dress, to which she added a straw hat. When Lance phoned from the lobby, she was ready.
    He was hiding behind dark glasses, but they still had to make a run for it from the hotel to evade a sudden deluge of screeching rock fans. Nancy couldn’t help feeling elated as they zoomed off in his sleek, open red sports car, which a bellhop had been holding ready with its engine running.
    She was also touched and pleased when Lance insisted on giving her a quick guided tour through the heart of London before lunch.
    What a feast it all is, thought Nancy. The bustlingpageant of Picadilly Circus and Trafalgar Square with its column and lions, a glimpse of the scarlet-plumed Horse Guards at Whitehall, then up Fleet Street, with the dome of St. Paul’s floating on the skyline, toward the fabled Tower of London and Tower Bridge.
    Lance circled back north past the British Museum. Then he turned south again through Soho toward the Thames to take in the Houses of Parliament as Big Ben was striking the quarter-hour, and historic Westminster Abbey, followed by the climactic spectacle of Buckingham Palace, with a brace of bearskinned, red-coated Grenadier Guards on sentry duty.
    Nancy had seen it all before, but she loved seeing it again.
    The gray, stately old city with its lovely green parks was changing. There were more modern towers and office blocks amid the ancient landmarks than Nancy had noticed on her last trip.
    And the clothing styles were certainly changing, too! The streets teemed with young people in the wildest imaginable outfits. Cross-gender dressing, bizarre haircuts and hairdos—everyone seemed bent on achieving the most outrageous possible image.
    “They make me feel positively stodgy!” Nancy smiled.
    Lance beamed at her admiringly. “Ah, but there’s one important difference you’re forgetting!”
    “What’s that?”
    “None of those dolly-birds is as lovely as you!”
    Crossing Sloane Square, they drove west down King’s Road through trendy Chelsea. Lance sped on past the urban sprawl to a quiet pub with garden tables overlooking the river.
    As they lunched on salad, prawns and quiche, Nancy found herself forgetting that she was the guest of a famous rock star. Aside from his accent, she might have been chatting with a young American she’d known from high school.
    But his background was certainly worlds different from Ned Nickerson’s. Workingclass by birth, Lance Warrick had made it to Oxford on brains alone. Originally he’d planned to be a serious composer.
    “What made you turn to rock?” she inquired.
    Lance grinned sharply. “Ambition. I reckoned that was the fastest way to open doors and make meself rich and famous.”
    As he spoke, his voice lost some