Chapter Eight
For their first visit, they had arrived at the house exactly on time and, though she looked excited, Brian could tell Elaine was nervous.
He knew exactly how she felt.
With interest.
The old seven-bedroom manor-house was in an affluent and desirable road in Herstmonceux that held only another three properties similar in type.
And it was a long road.
“How do I look?” the wife about to redefine their marriage asked him as she sat in the back seat of their mid-range saloon as if she were his employer and he no more than a chauffeur with whom she was on friendly, if patronising, terms.
“Very nice,” he told her with an unavoidable edge to his voice.
He was driving her to the home of some influential new friends where she was to be f****d, and not by him.
How could an edge
