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was
going to say it hadn't been. What an ego boost that would have been
for him. It's almost , she thought, as though we know each
other well. Already, he is showing jealousy .
    Jealousy, like
being recognized, was something else she could do without. Yet
somehow, like him, she was enjoying listening to what she was
saying. She was also enjoying remembering.
    'I remember he
had that scar on his face, and another on his chest. It was just
beneath his chest hair. It was barely covered by it. Strange,' she
added thoughtfully, 'but I had forgotten that.'
    She didn't add
that the guy, who she vaguely remembered was called Dwight, had
wanted to set her up in an apartment in Knightsbridge. That was her
business.
    'I'm stirred,'
he said against her ear. 'I'd get you to tell me about all your
other loves, if we only had time.'
    She enjoyed
the delicate touch of his breath on her face before his lips and
tongue again sought hers. His penis had hardened, and as he rolled
over onto her, it dug into her belly.
    Abby enjoyed
his dominance, the harsh tone he adopted when he ordered her to
turn over and be retied to the bed. Her sex quivered with
excitement against the crumpled bedclothes as he pinched and
slapped her bottom. Then she cried out as he raised her hips,
steadied them, and pushed himself back into where he had already
been.
    Alert to the
sound of his breathing, she waited until she was absolutely sure
that he was sleeping before she slipped out of her loosened bonds
and went to the bathroom.
    She washed the
smell of him from her body, then stared at herself in the
mirror.
    Who was this
woman who stared back at her? How could she do the things that she
did?
    For the first
time that night, fear at what might happen burned in her chest.
    'But it didn't
happen,' she said quietly to herself. 'You enjoyed everything that
happened tonight. Leave him now. Leave him to the bed, the bill and
the fact that you are gone and he will never have you again.'
    For the first
time ever, she did not quite believe what she was saying. There was
a nervous knot in her stomach about this man. There was also the
premonition in her head that she wanted to see him again and have
him again.
    She glanced at
her watch. Almost four. Time to be gone; time to cross the divide
between this life and her other one.
    Praying that
the water pipes wouldn't be too noisy, she turned on the chrome tap
that haphazardly sprayed cold water into a cold white sink. With
yellow soap and a frayed flannel, she washed what remained of the
red lipstick from her mouth and the black make-up from her
eyes.
    Keen to
cleanse her face of Carmel and the night, she was too vigorous with
the water and the rough towel. Eyesight blurred as a small circle
of plastic tipped out onto her cheek, then fell downwards.
    'Damn!'
    Squinting
slightly, she felt around the basin for the stray contact lens. Her
fingers failed to locate it.
    Exasperated, she threw her head back and clenched her
fists. No. This mustn't happen! The floor!
Perhaps it fell on the floor .
    Naked, she
dropped on all fours to the cold vinyl. Her actions were more
rushed now. She could not chance him seeing her like this. With or
without the contact lens, she had to get away before he awoke.
    Her fingers
failed to locate it. Hopefully, so would anyone else's. She stood
up and looked one last time in the pitted glass of the frameless
mirror.
    A pair of
dark-lashed eyes looked back at her; one black, and one blue.
    'Damn!' Her
exclamation was vehement, but no more than a whisper.
    Quietly, she
crept back into the bedroom, gathered up her clothes and her
handbag, then left.
    Not until she
was safely tucked up in her own bed in a room with grey and yellow
wallpaper and furnished with Queen Anne style reproductions did she
think about him and wonder who he really was. After all, she hadn't
even known his name.
    The funny
thing was that somehow, it hadn't seemed to matter. Despite his
strange garb and the remains of his make-up, there