It was a haunted place. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. She let him take off her skirt as she ritualistically removed his jeans along with his boxers. They slow danced to a Bon Jovi ballad. ‘Assuming she can prove her identity, does Remenham House belong to her?’ Mrs Sindlesham shifted her shoulders. "Bravo!" cried the thief-taker approvingly. It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that. It will be his interest to do so. Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound.
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