Fen loved Jake, despite having so many strips torn off her that she was practically fleshless. “It’s ours,” said Rupert, grinning and making a V-sign at them. Peering around the door, she found Billy walking around the wilful eight-year-old bay thoroughbred named Bugle, which Rupert had picked up in America. The traffic was terrible.
“Jesus,” he said to himself incredulously, ‘this amazingly beautiful girl really wants me. From Antwerp, to Paris, to Madrid, to Athens, to New York her portable typewriter gathered airline stickers, as she talked to Presidents, rock stars and distinguished tax exiles. Only that evening at a drinks party she’d been chatted up by a fantastic-looking French tennis player, who was just asking her out to dinner when Rupert came up and told him to piss off. He wished she wouldn’t always wear her hair up these days, like a confirmed spinster.
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