‘Sir Galahad had been in many difficult situations. Was it not his lot though, that as a noble prince where the safety of women was concerned, this was as is should be? He confessed though, that seldom in so doing, had he been insulted in this manner. Told by the Lady Lora’s friend to naff off and stop phoning her, while through the raging snowstorm, three miles she battled. How could she hold her phone when she had no gloves and her hands were tarry black? Except being the Lady Lora’s friend, naff was not the word that came from her lips.’
Goodness, what did I say a few posts ago about Raynaud’s? Of course that is on mountains. I hope you like my picture by the way. But if you think I am going to give you the low down on life, love, oh and that dog, in the actual Arctic, me being an erotic writer — I’m not.
No. This week was very exciting though. As if the car skidded off the road was not bad enough, a three mile hike in Arctic conditions. I felt like Nanook. I did have the hill boots after all. Except she probably had gloves. She probably had fur lined troosers’n all. Oh and a full length coat. The sense not to sashay along to Gauldry in a skirt and tights to see her friend Irene in the first place, so now her friend Irene’s hubby’s car is probably a write off.
Yes I thought at one stage. Lady Fury’s launch? I won’t have her and she won’t have me. But there, all was well. My little calendar now says five days, so I am going to let her take you that tiny way into her world. And the first subject there in that world, is not nice gowns,
or any other thing Fury loves. Although I am sure if you asked her nicely she would be happy to give you some fashion tips. No the first subject is
I blush to say for what exactly but I am sure you are imaginative. A bunch of old coots actually is what her maid Susan calls them.
But Fury’s straits are dire. And so she must consider one of the following…..
Well, all right, so he is slightly the older man. Fury has to reckon on fit fiddles and things as opposed to being wrinkle-free. And let’s forget that Flint calls him a slimey poke. Malmesbury, in Fury’s book is fashionable without being a dandy. Intelligent but not painful with it. His clothes are always immaculate. AND his hearing is acute. What’s more he likes her which is more than can be said for the hero. Malmesbury is also loaded….with money that is, which is also more than can be said of the hero.
So much the silent type he can hardly speak a word of Italian, so let’s forget about any English. he was born in Venice. He’s also the strong type, especially with boys and whips. Girls too. In Fury’s book probably the less said about Vellagio the better.
What is there to say about Southey? A buffoon Flint reckons to himself. He’s certainly younger than the rest. Yes.
Trying to think of some more, well he promises to do his best. Yes. Between bouts of hiccups brought on by his mammoth boozing sessions–which alone give Fury cause for concern. I mean, not being able to stand upright is hardly a guarantee of doing more is it? He also has somewhat grotty fingernails. And is very free with her booze and careless of her goblets. Of course one must consider what a child might inherit.
SO that’s it. Fury’s dilemma at the start of the of the book.
Who would you choose?