Rose woke early the next morning. Sunlight filtered through the window blinds, bathing the room in a golden hue and warming her exposed face and arms. She turned onto her side and peered at the alarm clock. Oh, what joy to be wide awake at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning. Rose reached for her glasses, slid them on and picked her book up off the table dresser. Her mouth was dry and her head was throbbing. She rarely drank, but last night she had consumed four large glasses of wine followed by a dubious-sounding cocktail which Shelly had made for her. The result was that Rose felt rough. Rougher than she had felt last week when she had been bedbound with influenza. It was no good, she was unable to concentrate on her latest romance, so with a sigh she flung back the covers and ros
