In the top of Jake’s chest of drawers in the bedroom, under the lining paper, she found the key to the poison cupboard. From Antwerp, to Paris, to Madrid, to Athens, to New York her portable typewriter gathered airline stickers, as she talked to Presidents, rock stars and distinguished tax exiles. ”It was a good thing there weren’t any traffic cops lurking as Helen floated home. She didn’t duck her head, for her unwrinkled, untroubled beauty had no need of dimmer light.
”They left Helen in the riders’ stand while they walked the course. ”Thank God we didn’t take the kids to Kenya, thought Helen, with a shudder. ”“Looks as though you’ve been peeling onions. She remembered so many arriving for Rupert over the years, usually in gaudily-coloured envelopes, sometimes with SWALK on the back, and how she’d longed to steam them open.
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