Fair enough - if it ain't broke, don't fix it. And it's one which Cooper has deployed with almost no variation over the course of seven bestselling, bonkbusting novels. Sex, money, power: it sounds a simple enough recipe. Rubicund colonels get tight on vodka martinis in country houses, and adolescent rakehells plunder the ranks of the debs who are only too happy to be rogered by Toby, or Percy, or Henry, providing he's got enough cash to back up his banging. Their braying mothers sluice themselves in Chanel No 5, start suckling the gin bottle at breakfast, and dream wistfully of their lissom youths. In the bosomy Cotswold landscape, girls called Laetitia or Fenella trot round gymkhanas on fat ponies called Snowball or Stardust. Meanwhile, in the brief intercoital pauses, upper-class life goes about its arduous duties. Keen to make her way in the world, the Tempting Temp (who has 'eyes the colour of love-in-a-mist') pleasures the Slightly Overweight Millionaire (who has 'bright blue eyes'). Mad with jealousy, The Trustafarian (who has 'huge hazel eyes, like amber traffic lights') impales herself on The Superstud (who has 'Cambridge-blue eyes'). It goes something like this: driven by desire, The Archetypal Shit (who has 'manganese-blue eyes') couples with The Beautiful Young Thing (who has 'eyes like huge green traffic lights').
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