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21st century Juliet

If I marry Perry Paris, the family estate will be saved—but I love a builder boy

By Rose Tremain   January 2007

4th March My thirtieth birthday. Oh well.

Home to Capell House. Mummy and Daddy give a dinner party for me. Before dinner, Daddy takes me aside and makes a big thing of saying he wanted to lay on fireworks for me, but was “absolutely overthrown” to discover they cost £1,200 a minute.

The Hon Peregrine Paris, flower of the county, turns up. Not invited by me, the toffee-nosed twat. Mummy drinks about five litres of champagne and crucifies me by braying, over the pudding: “Perry, I just can’t understand why you and Juliet have never got together!” Perry went scarlet.…

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