“I’m sure Mary-Jo’s doing that already,” snapped Fen, then immediately wished she hadn’t. She was pale and heavy-eyed, with her red hair drawn off her face and tied at the nape of the neck by the blue spotted handkerchief. Rupert, not drinking, was working off his excess energy in a mixed four on the floodlit tennis court. As he waved them off to the accompaniment of Marcus yelling and Vivaldi on the car radio, Rupert looked at him and raised his eyes to heaven.
If he survived this ordeal, he’d bloody well buy himself a mackintosh coat. “D’you know the one about the Irish saboteurs, Ellen? They spent all day trying to sabotage a drag hunt. ”“The only person he wants to meet at the moment is his maker. Tm starving,” she told Driffield.
Join the newsletter to receive news, updates, new products and freebies in your inbox.