. . .PAT KENNEDY OPENED HIS EYES, then slowly examined his surroundings, he recognised his room at the Villa Contessa and felt a surge of immense pleasure. A month had passed since he had decided to isolate himself, like many of the very rich, far from the crowds, the stress of meetings and the constant hustle of the City of London. He bounded out of bed, stretched, picked up the remote and zapped open the roller shutters of his large high ceilinged bedroom. The sun streamed in from the southwest, it was another early summer morning. Pat shaded his eyes and admired the magnificent view over the terrace, the Mediterranean sparkled like a silver platter beyond the villa’s luxuriant gardens. He felt good. Life was very good, far from Boris Johnson’s fatuous ‘Let’s get going’ Britain. What had been planned as a rest in Beaulieu-sur-mer was now becoming a habit. He had little desire to return to London, even less Hong Kong. He just wated to lay back, admire the colours and breath . . . Read More