Playing with Fire [antikvár]

PrologueIf my life is a tapestry, then I am unpicking it, stitch by stitch.Laure stands at the side of the too-small dance floor, smiling the preoccupied smile that is her first line of defence, when this thought comes to her. Before her a group of people, some she knows well, one she knows intimately, some she knows not at all, approximate the dances of their youth with varying degrees of success. One man looks as if he is sliding about on a tray while performing semaphore, and she has to stop herself laughing out loud. Only drink could make people abandon their inhibitions like this. She should join in, but she cannot. Letting go is not an option, because there is too much in her life that is fast unravelling. If she allowed alcohol to crumble her defences, then anyone might climb in.'Drink?'A familiar deep voice at her elbow makes her jump.'Not for me. What are you having?' She forces a smile.'Champagne. Started off with it, may as well carry on. Bugger the expense. It's all in a good cause, anyway.'