Olivier’s face had fallen like the guillotine, and he’d stalked into the house through the French windows. This was the chance she’d been waiting for. Three glasses of Bucklebury Folly and the Preston brothers’ herbal offerings had numbed her anxiety. The boys had spent all evening telling her she was the most gorgeous female at the party, giving her the confidence boost she needed. She felt quite her old self.She rose gracefully to her feet, ignoring the protests from the Preston brothers. They were supine on the rug beside her, too stoned to get up. They tugged at her trouser legs, begging her not to go. She kicked them off good-naturedly.‘For heaven’s sake, I’m only going to the loo.’ Satisfied with her explanation, and urging her not to be long, they fell back on to the rug.Olivier was sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace, lighting matches from a box of Swan Vesta and tossing them on to the unlit logs. Claudia flopped into a nearby battered leather chair.‘Penny for them,’ she said softly.Olivier looked up.‘Only a penny?’ he said drily.
