He picked up a flute of champagne for her. She did deserve a break and a drink after conquering the dancefloor.

"I could do some writing tomorrow, but I'm not sure I'll make it to eighty," he said with a chuckle. Clearly the prospect of dying within the next twenty years didn't bother him.

"I'm sure you'll breeze past ninety-three and four months and still have more than half the energy you do now."