Mildred Shay, once the toast of Hollywood dubbed ‘Pocket Venus’ (‘My tits were better than Hedy Lamarr’s’) is now lonely in London. Her cat food-ridden, Wonderbra-littered, fading flat on Cundy Street, Belgravia, has few visitors. And then arrives Austin, initially on a research mission for The Daily Telegraph. She flirts with him outrageously, dressed in cocktail...
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