‘YOU KNOW SHE’S sleeping with half of Glebe, don’t you?’ Emile slyly watched Anne for a reaction.
Warren’s eyes popped open. ‘No!’
‘Yes!’
‘Who?’
‘Well,’ Emile was undeniably enjoying himself. ‘For one, the man down in Reading Street. The one in the converted electricity station?’
‘Really?’ Warren sat forward in his chair.
‘And that guy in the house across the road from you, Anne. You know, the beautiful old mansion?’
‘No!’ Warren was rapt.
‘Oh yes! They say she’s putting it about a bit.’
‘Bollocks,’ Anne couldn’t remain silent any longer. ‘Who is “they” anyway?’
‘Well,’ Emile hummed smugly, the corner of his mouth twitching.
‘Complete bollocks,’ repeated Anne. ‘She spends half her life at my place, and I spend half my life at hers!’
‘Yes. Well,’ Emile pursed his lips, crossed his arms and rocked back on his chair.
