CHAPTER
There were two people in the
Regency four-poster that
swamped the suite overlook-
ing the Brighton seafront but
only one of them was breath-
ing; deeply and evenly， as she
sipped fiat Bollinger Brut and
decided what to do next.
Her name was Susan
Street， and she was almost
twenty-seven and almost beau-
tiful with long dark hair， long
pale legs and a short temper.
Beside her lay a man who
would never see fifty again
and who now would never see
~Nsixty， either. He had
been，
until half an hour ago， the
editor of the Sunday Best， a
tabloid with teeth whose circu-
lation was three million and
rising. Unfortunately he would
never see it reach four million，
because his deputy editor
Susan Street had just dis-
patched him to that big board-
room in the sky with a sexual
performance of such singular
virtuosity that his heart
couldn t stand it.
His heart， like everything
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