Striding confidently into the kitchen, I used those four words that no man ever wants to hear from a woman. ‘How do I look?’ I said.
Mr Dear glanced at me with the same expression that he uses when examining second-hand cars. ‘You look like you’re going to a funeral,’ he said.
So much for my favourite two-piece suit. ‘You don’t think it looks businesslike?’
‘I suppose so, but are you expecting to do much in the way of business?’
Probably not, but where I was going it
