Never too late [antikvár]

Chapter OneThe breathless sound of'Santa Baby' trickled from the sales office's radio next door, a soft child-like voice singing about wanting a yacht, a flat and a string of race horses. At least it was better than 'White Christmas' which Evie had heard about ten times over the past week and which she was now practically singing in her sleep. If Bing Crosby hadn't been dead, she'd have been tempted to kill him.Evie took a moment to stretch her fingers over the computer keyboard. She was tired; she'd been in the office since eight, typing most of that time, in between explaining Microsoft Word to the new junior who'd sworn a hole in a pot she was fluent in it during her interview. From the way she had gazed blankly during most of the morning, Evie wondered if the girl was even fluent in English, never mind computer language.The fragrant scent of Javan Blue coffee drifted out from the sales office. Evie sniffed the air longingly. She'd have killed for a cup of coffee, the sensation of warm, full-bodied caffeine was just what she needed to give her an energy boost. But she couldn't have any.She was on fruit tea - preferably lemon - and a litre and a half of water every day. How else was she going to bare her bum and thighs in a bikini on honeymoon if she didn't get rid of some of the cellulite?-From behind, her rear looked like a relief map of the moon - not the sort of thing to expose to all and sundry on the romantic isle of Crete. Unless lunar landscaped bums suddenly became the latest holiday 'must-have', on a par with a simply knotted sarong, sun-kissed skin and jelly flip flops.'Getting rid of cellulite isn't simply a two-week thing, it's a way of life,' the beautician had said bossily the previous week.-'Especially when you're getting older. Over thirty-fives have to be more careful, you know/ she'd added meaningfully.Evie would have liked to have asked how the hell the beautician - twenty-two at a pinch - could speak so confidently about1