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  Looking up, I realised that Turner was watching me. There was something unsettling about the way she did it too. The smile had faded from her face and I felt like she could see everything that was going on in my head.

  ‘Su works for me,’ she said. ‘She’s my secretary.’

  ‘Ah!’ So this was the woman Suzanne battled through the rush hour crowds for every morning. I couldn’t say I blamed her.

  I’d already located Su in the crowd. She was in a foursome by the bookcase – in a white pants suit that showed off the tan she’d been cultivating long before her holiday in Lesbos with Mary. She was holding a glass that probably had whisky in it. She was watching me with Turner and she looked away much too quickly when our eyes met.

  Turner didn’t miss anything, I could see that. I noticed her eyebrows raising, just slightly, as I shifted my attention back to her. She could have been irritated or amused, or anything else in between, but suddenly my head was filled with the image of her making love with Su. The thought branded itself into my mind’s eye faster than the flash of a paparazzi camera. I felt a sick kind of left behind feeling in my stomach, like when a lift starts to go down too quickly. I pushed the image away, but it hovered at the edges of my mind, like a wasp at a picnic.

  ‘So, you got to be friendly through work?’ I asked.

  ‘Barely that... I told you. She’s my secretary.’

  I suspected that she was lying to me. And, of course, she would. Despite myself, I found it exciting that she could carry it off so coolly.

  ‘Isn’t it a bit difficult then?’ I asked. ‘I mean, are bosses meant to socialise with their secretaries?’

  Turner took a long drink of something that looked like American Dry Ginger. ‘There’s no law against it,’ she said. ‘What do you do? For a job, I mean.’

  ‘I’m a photographer.’

  ‘Sounds exciting.’

  ‘It’s okay. I teach a night school class; do studio portraits – some weddings, though people usually want somebody who’ll look slightly more conventional in a suit... Recently I’ve branched out into the “boudoir” business... You know the kind of thing... soft focus poses in nice French underwear... all very tasteful... well, most of the time, at least. It seems to be going quite well.’

  Turner smiled. ‘Perhaps I could have a session with you.’

  ‘For your husband?’ Damn – I couldn’t resist it. And anyway, it was best that she knew that I knew.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘More for the sheer bloody exhibitionism of it really.’

  She didn’t bat an eyelid as she said it, and again I felt that strange tug of respect for her. I guess if you’re going to play away from home there’s no point getting yourself all bent out of shape about it. She stretched in her seat and instantly I was sizing her up photogenically. She certainly knew how to use make-up but even without that she would have been stunning. Her dark brown hair was swept back from her face, tapering down to her shoulders in a cut that must have cost a fortune. Her skin was tanned, her cheekbones high. On her forehead, just above her left eye, was a faint scar, maybe two inches long, not quite hidden by the sweep of her hair. I felt a bit breathless and tingly when I looked at her. I could have looked at her all night.

  ‘Could you make me look good?’ she asked.

  ‘Make you look good?’ I shook my head in wonder.

  I was gazing into her eyes now. They looked almost black in the dimmed light of the room, though I could see a faint hint of lighter brown circling each pupil. All my objectivity was dissolving. She was moving closer to me, softening as my eyes lost focus. I found that I wanted to kiss her, quite urgently.

  She obviously had the same idea... And, yes, she was drinking dry ginger.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, letting go of me eventually. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m being very forward.’

  ‘If you are, I like it.’

  Her eyes held mine for a very long time.

  ‘You know a lot of people here, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes - almost everyone. Some better than others.’

  ‘Does it get boring?’

  ‘Maybe, a little. Not tonight though. Would you like to dance?’

  For a shy person, I’d always had a great love of dancing. It gave me a way of being with women without having to think of anything much to say to them.

  And somebody had exchanged the Suede CD for a mix-tape of dance tracks. The beat of ‘All That She Wants,’ was tugging at me and I found myself smiling as Turner stood up and held out her hand to pull me out of the armchair.

  It would have been easy enough to dance apart to a rhythm like that. Turner, however, had other ideas. She held me close, her hands travelling down my back, warm through the silk shirt, her body moving gently against mine as her breath misted my earlobe again and I felt goose bumps running up and down my arms.

  I knew that eyebrows would be raising around the room.

  ‘How well do you know Suzanne really?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, not that again... I told you...’

  ‘Well, she can’t keep her eyes off you.’

  Turner didn’t answer, and maybe there was nothing she could say. I weighed up the complications. Suzanne, maybe... The husband, for sure. Turner had the feel of a married woman. It went further than the gold band on the third finger of her left hand. Everything about her said that she wasn’t really used to being in lesbian company.

  She was evasive too – very.

  ‘Does your husband know you’re here?’ I asked.

  Turner shifted rhythm with me as Shaggy growled ‘Oh Carolina,’ from the hi-fi.

  ‘You ask a lot of questions, don’t you? – He knows I’m out.’

  ‘At a lesbian party?’

  ‘Not specifically.’

  ‘Would he mind?’

  ‘Not in the slightest. Look, do you want to dance or do you want to talk?’

  We danced, and without the distraction of words my body started to move to a beat I’d almost forgotten; the low anticipatory throb of desire. It was so many years since I’d felt like that, it took me by surprise. I felt both exhilarated and scared.

  Then Suzanne came back into my vision.

  ‘Su’s waving. We’d better go see what she wants.’

  I guess what she wanted was to put an end to seeing us so close.

  ‘Mary’s starting with a migraine’ she said. ‘We just wanted to say goodbye before we go.’

  Her eyes, meeting Turner’s were very cool – angry, I thought. I glanced away.

  Mary was standing by, looking helpless. I hugged her, but she seemed a bit distant with me. Perhaps she saw it as disloyal, the fact that I was so clearly on the verge of sleeping with the enemy.

  ‘Hope you feel better soon love,’ I whispered.

  ‘Thanks.’ Maybe she really did have a headache. I probably would if my lover looked at another woman like that.

  ‘Bye then,’ they both said.

  ‘Sure, yes, bye.’

  Somebody had put k.d. lang on now and loads of women were dancing.

  Turner wanted to leave.

  ‘I’d like to drive you home,’ she said.

  ‘But I live in North London.’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  I looked around for Kay, who was still in the kitchen talking to Ros.

  Turner put her hand on my arm.

  ‘Just you,’ she said.

  She had a top-of-the-range Rover in black. It was a sleek, sexy beast of a car with air conditioning and cream leather upholstery. INXS blasted out as she fired the ignition and I felt relieved to know that I wasn’t going to be expected to talk. I felt like I was in a bubble, locked in there with Turner. She was a smooth, confident and slightly fast driver. I didn’t feel entirely safe with her but I didn’t care. I felt very drunk though I’d spilled half my first drink on the carpet and abandoned the second almost untouched when Turner kissed me.

  We seemed to be taking the country route, quite a long way round, though with her ha
nd on my knee, I wasn’t about to complain. It felt nice to be naughty for once. I wondered if I should do it more often.

  I was still playing with the idea when she bounced the car into a deeply rutted lay-by and turned off the engine, plunging us into silence. My ears buzzed as they struggled to adjust. Then the headlights were out too and we were blanketed in darkness. I heard the high pitched slither and clunk of her seat belt sliding home.

  ‘Come on!’ she said, nodding her head towards the night outside.

  Unquestioningly, I got out of the car, watched as she central-locked it and followed her over a stile and into a wood. I could hear the rattle of stones under our feet.... the distant, tremulous ‘whoo’ of an owl. A hot green smell oozed from the trees that closed around us, tugging the darkness tighter. She seemed to know where she was going, but I didn’t and I was afraid I might trip and fall on the uneven path, despite the firmness of her hand in mine. I felt like I daren’t speak and break the silence. And we seemed to be walking a long way before she pulled me off the path and into the overgrowth. Brambles tore and snagged at the bottom of my jeans and I feared for her bare legs, but she didn’t seem to care and we hadn’t gone far off the path when she suddenly caught hold of my shoulders and slammed me up against a tree. It was big and rough-barked... an oak maybe... branches rustling high above our heads, leaves whispering in the quiet that fell around us now we weren’t walking anymore. I could smell the bark and the moss, and something garlicky growing near a stream I heard trickling nearby. Up through the black, spreading branches, the moon shone full... waxy... and yellow. I gasped for breath as my eyes met Turner’s. Once, holidaying in the Lake District, the first time on my own after my partner Corinne died, I came upon Wastwater. It was endlessly deep and dark like that; eerie and still like nothing I’d ever seen before, and I’d stood there mesmerised, as I did now, not noticing how cold I was becoming, watching the light dying on the lake, grey fading into deeper grey... fading to deepest, darkest black.....

  Turner put the car keys into my pocket, kissed me, slipped off her pants, and dragged her dress up over her head.... all in what seemed to me to be one seamless, flowing movement.

  ‘I’m going to feel really stupid if you don’t want me now,’ she said.

  Not wanting didn’t come into it. I shivered despite the warmth of the night, quite overwhelmed at seeing her standing naked in front of me, breathing quickly and slightly unsteady on her high heels. She was so very beautiful and I was so confused. This kind of thing doesn’t happen to people like me. This place... Turner.... a beautiful woman seducing me. Not here, like this. There was such a dreamlike quality about the whole thing... a sense of unreality, of time and space twisting in on themselves. And yet... when I touched her she was most definitely real – her skin cool and dry, her hair falling into her eyes - the smell of her perfume and the faintest underlacing of sweat and sex.

  And still, I hesitated. I was scared of getting it wrong.

  All around us, the woods were rustling. Small creatures shrieked in the distance. Our breath came in gasps. She was unbuttoning my shirt.... kissing me... her lips and tongue and hands all over me... taking my hands, guiding me urgently inside. I steadied myself against the oak. She bit her lip, bracing herself against me, gripping my shoulders so hard I knew I would have her fingerprints on me in the morning, her head back in a long, slow, almost soundless moan. I raised my knee for leverage, my foot against the tree, not caring anymore how much of her wetness she rubbed onto my jeans, kissing her throat, her neck, her shoulders, everywhere I could reach as she drove me deeper and deeper, coming suddenly in a reckless tumble, sagging against me and covering my face with kisses.

  ‘Oh God!’ she said, clinging to me, half laughing. I slid back to take her in my arms, suddenly protective of her, wanting to make sure she didn’t get cold. If I’d had a jacket, I would have wrapped it round her.

  ‘I can’t believe I was such a slut,’ she said when she’d got her breath back.

  ‘You weren’t – you were beautiful.’ I tilted her face so I could kiss her once more on the lips.

  Then suddenly, I heard something, a low whispering in the bushes that seemed to be drawing nearer. My first thought was that someone had been watching us. Fear gripped me and I felt for the car keys in my pocket that were the only thing I had that resembled a weapon out there. Then a cloud passed over the face of the moon and we were plunged into a darker shade of night. Turner must have felt the tension in me. She listened too. ‘Is anything the....?’

  ‘Ssh.’

  I was concentrating so hard my ears were starting to hurt, but now there was just the familiar rustling – the background noise of a faint breath of wind in the trees. Slowly the light returned as the clouds moved on.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, feeling only sick now and unnaturally cold. ‘I thought I heard something... I must be imagining things. Come on. Let’s get back to the car before someone nicks it.’

  ‘But don’t you..?’ She sounded a bit shaky.

  ‘No, look, I’m sorry...’

  ‘Okay.’ She shrugged. Maybe she’d decided that was just the way I was.

  Driving home, with the smell of her on my hands, I was shocked and embarrassed at how reckless we’d been, and I couldn’t get away from the sense of having been watched.

  ‘I’d like to see you again,’ said Turner, dropping me outside my gate.

  I hesitated, still shivering. She was married after all. I didn’t want to lose my self respect again for a woman who couldn’t or wouldn’t commit herself to me.

  ‘What’s bothering you most?’ she asked, seeming partly, to read my mind. ‘My husband, or the way I just behaved?’ Her fingers curled around the steering wheel. She looked as if she was holding onto it for moral support.

  ‘Please believe me,’ I said. ‘You were wonderful back there... I’ll be honest though, it does bother me that you’re married. I don’t want anybody to get hurt.’

  Turner laughed bitterly. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘My husband doesn’t give a damn about me if that’s all you’re worried about. Look, here’s my phone number at work. Give me a ring when you’ve had time to think about it, eh?’

  I wasn’t sure that I would, but I took the card she offered me anyway.

  ‘Thanks for the lift,’ I said.

  ‘Thanks for catching me.’

  Then she was gone.

  Upstairs, I sank down onto my bed, flinching a little as the bruised bits of me touched the mattress. I stared at the card.

  Petrovski, Shaw and Cox - Chartered Accountants - Registered Auditors

  I already had the number of course, from when I’d needed to phone Suzanne at work.

  That night I was tortured by nightmares. There were people whose faces grew sinister in an instant; Turner falling towards me – my hands out, missing her; clouds racing across the face of the moon... And a shadow moving closer, ever closer, touching me in the darkness

  Kay

  I woke up exhausted to the sound of Kay caterwauling loudly in the shower. Everything about me ached, especially my head. And the bathroom was right next door to my bedroom.

  ‘A-all that she wants – a chunk a chunk – baby.... A-all that she wants a ho-oh...’

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ I yelled, hammering on the wall.

  ‘Sorry!’

  I’d heard her come crashing into the house in the early hours, so any normal person would have needed a bit of a sleep-in. Not Kay. As usual she was up with the larks and twice as noisy.

  She’d even been out jogging and brought back a copy of The Observer. It was folded, unread, on the kitchen table when I shuffled downstairs, clutching my dressing gown around me and yawning so hard I could hear my jaw crack.

  It was another lovely day, weather-wise. The sun was shining in through the window, bouncing off the white tiles of the kitchen and hurting my eyes. Painfully, I made fresh filter coffee, put croissants in the oven to warm, knocked back a couple of paracetamol tablets from the
First Aid box next to the sink, and flopped down at the table with the paper.

  I seemed to have a choice of reading – The broadsheet, with a bombing raid on Baghdad on the front page, or Judy Nelson’s life without Martina Navratilova in the colour supplement. I scanned through enough of the leader to decide that it wouldn’t make great reading in my current frame of mind, and opted for the supplement as a slightly less depressing Sunday morning breakfast accompaniment.

  ‘Has your lady friend gone already then?’ asked Kay, appearing in the doorway at the smell of breakfast. She was rubbing her short blonde hair briskly with a towel and I could tell from her sulky tone that she was peeved about me leaving the party without her. I can’t say I blamed her. I’d have been upset if she’d done that to me. Her bare feet padded across the Cushionfloor as she sniffed the coffee and went to help herself to a cup.

  ‘She never was here in the first place,’ I said.

  I shook the buttery smelling croissants from their baking tray onto a couple of small plates and wondered if I was actually going to be able to stomach mine.

  ‘Oh, sure...’ said Kay, reaching for the Flora. ‘I get it!’ She tapped the side of her nose, indicating that she was prepared to protect my lady friend’s honour if I really wanted her to.

  ‘No,’ I said, firmly, ‘She really never was here in the first place.’

  Kay looked taken aback, as if she wasn’t sure whether to believe me or not.

  ‘But.... I could have sworn I heard somebody else in your room,’ she said. ‘What about all that groaning and yelling and heavy breathing then?’

  ‘That was me. I had a bad night. One nightmare after another.’

  ‘You mean I’ve been tiptoeing around for nothing?’

  ‘Hardly tiptoeing Kay – waking me up with your cat’s chorus.’