“Charlie moved a crumpled shirt from the only chair in the room to sit down, wanting to distance himself from her. Charlie was annoyed. At Clarissa, for being so sure of herself. And at himself, for the excitement he felt. ‘This is stupid,’ he said. ‘I don’t think so.’ ‘I do.’ ‘It’s fun.’ She meant it, Charlie knew. People like Clarissa did things simply because they were fun. Like boarding aircraft at dawn in the previous night’s party clothes because breakfast at Focquets seemed fun, or like d...eciding it was fun to look at a friend’s villa in Acapulco right after lunch at San Lorenzo. Clarissa must worry about her passport like he worried about his feet. ‘What about Rupert?’ ‘He thinks I’m somewhere off the coast of Menton, on a yacht.’ ‘I didn’t mean that.’ ‘Rupert didn’t seem a problem for you in America. What’s so different now?’ ‘Look at me,’ said Charlie. ‘I’m a worn-out old bugger at least ten years older than you. If you took me to the house of any of your friends they wouldn’t let me past the kitchens.’ ‘You’re an inverted snob!’ ‘Would they?’ ‘I don’t intend finding out.’ She looked around her.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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