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it’s just the traveling or the heat.”
    “We’ve been to Florida five times, so why should it suddenly affect me now?”
    Liz sat up and bashed her pillow; he was not going to let her sleep. She snapped on the bedside lamp, got out of bed, and slipped a silk robe around her shoulders. At forty-seven she was in good shape, much better than her husband. But then the only thing she had to fill her time was exercise.
    “Do you want a cup of tea or something?”
    “Maybe a glass of water,” he muttered.
    Liz padded across the wide expanse of oyster-pink carpet to the fridge and poured some Perrier water into a tumbler. “I’ll have to call down for some ice.”
    “Don’t bother.” Driscoll leaned back on the pillows. The hair on his chest was flecked with gray, as was the thick, bushy thatch on his head. At least there were no signs of baldness.
    Liz returned to his side of the bed with the water. “I think I might spend the day at the hotel spa tomorrow. Have you got anything arranged?”
    “Golf,” he muttered.
    “Shall I meet you at the clubhouse when I’m through?”
    “Yeah, we’ll have a drive around, then book somewhere nice for dinner. What do you think of the restaurant here?”
    “I’ve not even looked at it yet, just read the leaflets. After that long plane trip, I could do with a stretch and a massage. I might have my hair and nails done too. Shall we meet up at about five?”
    “I’m not playing golf all bloody day.”
    “Well, why don’t you meet me back here, then? And don’t get so shirty. It’s not my fault you’re impotent.”
    “I’m not fucking impotent,” he snapped.
    Her smirk turned into a laugh; he knew she was teasing him.
    “Get off,” he said as she tickled him but couldn’t help smiling. She cuddled him and kissed his chest.
    “I think I’ll go to sleep now.” He turned away before she could make another attempt. He couldn’t stand the thought of failure twice in the same night.
    Liz walked over to the dressing table and gave her long blond tresses a flick. She admired herself for a moment, then leaned closer to check her face. “I hate this light,” she muttered, tracing the lines at the sides of her mouth. They seemed deeper, even though they had been injected recently. She pursed her lips; they too had been “fluffed up” with collagen injections.
    “Are you coming back to bed?” Driscoll asked.
    Liz was now studying the lines between her eyes. She was not supposed to be able to frown; her brow should have been frozen. “I don’t think these Botox injections work, Tony.”
    “Well, I think you’re crazy to have anything done, let alone stick poison into your face.”
    Liz pouted. At least her new lips looked great. She went into the bathroom.
    “What are you doing?” he shouted.
    “Having a tiddle. Is that all right with you?” She shut the door and gave herself the satisfaction her husband had been unable to provide.
    They were both in deep sleep when the phone rang. Driscoll sat up like a shot. “What the hell? . . . What time is it?”
    Liz moaned. “It might be one of the kids.”
    “If it is I’ll give ’em a mouthful. It’s only four o’clock.” He wrapped a robe around himself.
    “Well, answer it, then,” Liz said, worried now.
    “All right, all right.” He snatched up the phone. “Hello?”
    “It’s the Colonel,” came the soft voice at the other end of the line. Driscoll pressed hold and put down the receiver. He glanced at Liz and said, “It’s okay, business. I’ll take it in the lounge.” He walked out.
    “Business?” She flopped back, relieved that her children were not in trouble. They were in the south of France, staying with friends. They had grown out of accompanying their parents on holiday, even to Florida for Christmas. She wondered if they liked their gifts—they wouldn’t have waited until Christmas Day to open them. Michelle had a gold necklace with her name picked out in diamonds, a matching bracelet,