A wave of cold coffee splashed out.“Of what? Profit?”Her laugh tinkled like wind chimes in a summer breeze.“With your margins? Fifty percent of ...evenue, Doctor.”Simon paled to a colour only seen on corpses.“Revenue?” The word came out as though he had two hands around his throat. “I can't.”India laughed again. “Please. I'm not asking for what you can't afford.”“I can't do it, India. Be reasonable.”“Be reasonable? From the man who told me to skip breakfast and lunch? The man who's made a million. On the other side was the family kitchen and beyond that the pool changing room while joining those single storey wings was the two storey house occupied by their parents and by occasional visitors.Jake's father was considerably older than his wife and a university professor with family money. Simone's mother was a doctor in a local General Practice. They had married shortly after their original partners had in his case died suddenly and in her's had returned to his native country and to. More

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