“Wow,” he said. “This is an amazing place.”

“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?” Lizzie smiled. “I could sit looking at the view for hours.”

“This was once the site of a royal palace, you know,” Johnny said. “It was called Baynard’s Castle. The foundations are right under this building. Henry VII rebuilt it and apparently it was very beautiful. Great view of the river too; the nobility grabbed all the best locations.”

“That figures,” Lizzie said. These days it was the rich who could afford prime real estate in London, celebrities, bankers, power brokers, the aristocrats of their day.

“I could show you a picture of it,” Johnny said. “It’s amazing when you imagine what all the old palaces along the river must have looked like.” He patted his pockets. “Damn, I must have dropped my phone in the car.”

“Some other time, then,” Lizzie said. “History isn’t really my thing but I’d be interested to see it.” She sat down and after a moment Johnny did the same, taking the chair opposite her, leaning forward again, clearly unable to relax.

“This wasn’t really how I thought it would be,” he said, after a moment. He looked up at her, half rueful, half laughing. “You being so nice, I mean. It makes it more difficult...” His voice faded away. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just that I have something I need to ask you, and...” He stopped again, frowning.

“Why don’t you tell me what prompted you to come to find me the other day?” Lizzie said. “You said you needed my help then. We could start there.”

Johnny’s face cleared. “Yes, OK. Thanks.” He looked down at his clasped hands; he was gripping them together so tightly that the knuckles showed white. “This might sound odd,” he said slowly, “but I wanted to ask you about what happened at Millie and Dudley’s wedding.”

“Oh.” Lizzie was taken aback. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting but it hadn’t been this. “Well,” she said, “I remember that you were six years old and you didn’t like your pageboy outfit.”

“It was gross.” Johnny shuddered. “But that wasn’t what I meant. I wondered—” He looked at her. “I know it’s a bit weird to be asking now but what did you see in the crystal that day?”

Lizzie wasn’t going to pretend that she couldn’t remember what he was talking about, especially now he knew she had the gift of psychometry. She thought of the crystal ball clasped in the hands of the angel and the plaintive notes of the harp she had thought she heard.

“You asked me that at the time,” she said slowly. “It was an odd question from such a young child.”

“I knew even then that you had some sort of psychic gift,” Johnny said. “I could sense it, maybe because I was psychic too.”

Lizzie shifted, thinking back, feeling the uncomfortable memories crowd back in. “I told you the truth,” she said. “I didn’t see anything in it at all. It was beautiful; I wanted to touch it, it called to me, but I resisted.” She hesitated. “Like I say, I’m not always comfortable with my gift, and I was even less so in those days. And the crystal felt dangerous in some way, as though there was something malignant about it.” She shivered suddenly, though the flat was warm.