I signed his book (wrote the room number) and as I was raised on my elbows, asked him to hold the glass while I took a drink and then to feed me with ... few strawberries which he dipped in cream, I thanked him and he said he would “colllect the trolley later, madame!” I flopped back down onto my front and the masseur continued his work.He manipulated each finger and toe, worked over my arms and legs and made me yelp when he worked on my neck which was apparently “quite knotted up.” He asked if I. “Drank,” I croaked.“Too much whiskey?”Fuck, he knew me. He read the look of shame on my expression and laughed.“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he said, gently taking me into his arms. He lifted me off the floor and carried me back to my room.“What if I throw up on you?”“There’s this great invention I have to tell you about, Celie,” he said, pressing his lips to my temple. “It’s called a washing machine.”I punched him in the chest.“Don’t call me that,” I grumbled.“It’s been over a year now and. More

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