“Oh, get him one,” Fen told Sarah. “Belgravia’d be the ideal horse,” said Rupert, relenting slightly too. He longed to kiss her, but both were conscious of not having cleaned their teeth since morning. Helen, rigid with shock and envy, couldn’t take her eyes off her.
It was stone cold and heavily garlicked. The Bull clouted the practice fence. Not a follicle of superfluous hair was left on her body. She’d looked rich enough when she’d got into the car; that dress must have cost a packet, and Americans were rarely short of a few bob.
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