He has been a dark-eyed boy and a thoughtful youth; now Peter is a man with a fold-resistant suit and bushels of frequent flyer points. On the day the sun returns he wakes in a bijou hotel whose chef makes the best fried eggs on the continent. It was booked for him by Lucy, who has been a girl with a penchant for daisies and a red-headed, free-skirted young woman, and who knows how Peter feels about breakfast.
He has the taxi change direction: no pitch, only the airport. The sun has returned and there are better things to do.