Lasja Lessing

“Good day, Madame,” the tall silver-haired gentleman said with a touch of French, smiling broadly, extending his hand, “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Nichols.”

He had, of course, been expecting her, having recognized her by the photo she had included in her Curriculum Vitae, so she smiled, doubting a little, “Mr…Collingwood..?”

“That’s right. Sidney Collingwood. Of course everyone calls me Sid.”

“And I’m Theo,” she said, “I’m used to my name being shortened that way.”

They laughed and she couldn’t help but notice his front teeth in a straight row; a mark of strength and tenacity, her father had said. She was thinking, I like your dove-grey eyes, Sidney Collingwood. It goes nicely with your silver hair.