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December 11, 2015

“Very nice.”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, I’ve been caught.  I swivelled around so fast that the white wine splashed from the crystal goblet on to the carpet.  Have they come back early?  But, no, it wasn’t my boss, Isabelle, and her husband Philippe.  Instead a dark haired man, probably in his late twenties, was holding on to the open door, one hand on his hip, and eyeing me up and down.  My face reddened with the embarrassment of being caught, but I was also a little alarmed.  Who the hell was this guy?  And how had he got into the house?

I stopped dancing immediately.  Well I hadn’t exactly been dancing, but shimmying m...

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