Thin, beautiful, flame-haired fortysomething widows make perfect light-reading heroines. Alice Lightfoot is such a widow. We meet her lying naked on the rug with her granddaughter, and at once we know that this grandmother is no granny because her breasts swing rather than sag and, after three years of sexual purdah, she is ready to play the field. And quite a field she plays. No lonely hearts for Alice. Men present themselves to her on a plate, mainly through her job as an interviewer for a quality national newspaper, but should these ever fail, she could always opt for her dead husband’s best friend. She can afford to pick and choose, which she does, and in doing so is inadvertently caught up in a curious plot involving Sir Brendan Costa, a super-rich businessman, a handsome deep-sea diver called Blue Carroway, gold bullion, young offenders and the Scilly Isles. A sub-plot involving Alice’s family keeps the home fires burning.
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