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contrite, but only vaguely , he flashed Megan another smile and said, ‘Sorry. I guess I wasn’t cut out to be a postman. I suppose it’s fortunate I made up my mind to work for a living.’
    Uninvited, Megan took one of the captain’s chairs and sat down facing him. She pulled a pack of tobacco and some papers from inside her coat and began to roll a cigarette. The kitchen was a haven of cleanliness and perfection. One window stared out on to the Graftons’ rear garden, a modest stretch of neatly manicured lawn. Another window overlooked the driveway at the side of the house and Charlie’s BMW. The décor inside was spotless. The surfaces were polished and the fixtures and fittings were hidden behind discreet doors that looked like the other cupboards. Sprinkling curls of tobacco dust on the spotless linen cloth that covered the kitchen table, Megan ignored the room and the Graftons and glowered at the cigarette she was making.
    ‘Well,’ she murmured dryly. ‘That certainly puts a different spin on things, doesn’t it?’
    Rhona took the letter from her husband and read it slowly. The pink paper looked as if it belonged in her slender, attractive hand. ‘I honestly don’t understand what the problem is,’ she said eventually. ‘Why would this letter make you call round here in such an angry mood? I can’t see anything in it that would be offensive.’
    With her cigarette rolled, Megan snatched the sheet from Rhona’s hand. Charlie was watching her with the intensity of a hawk pursuing a fieldmouse. Not for the first time in her life Megan was thankful that she concealed her eyes with the impenetrable dark glasses. Max, her husband and master, exuded the strongest air of authority she had ever encountered in any man. He doled out discipline with a mastery that was breath-taking and delightful. But Charlie Grafton seemed to have a similar aura of power and control. As she snapped her cigarette lighter aflame, Megan glanced again at the letter.
    Dear Ms M
,
    We would be interested in employing your services for a couple of evenings each week. Please let us know if you are able to accommodate us and we can then get together and negotiate the terms and conditions most satisfying to all our mutual needs
.
    Yours sincerely
,
    Charles & Rhona Grafton
    The misunderstanding was now so obvious she wondered how she had been so careless as to make the mistake. Because she had heard Rhona and Charlie discussing her – ‘
Charles, I simply have to have that McMurray girl
…’ – and knew the swinging couple shared a desire to get her into bed, she had assumed the letter was a bold offer proposing payment for sex.
    The connection had seemed obvious when she read the letter. Now Megan was amazed that she could have been so self-centred and stupid as to make such an erroneous assumption. ‘I read it the wrong way,’ she mumbled. Raising her gaze to meet Charlie’s she added defiantly, ‘But it was your fault for delivering it to the wrong house.’
    He held up his hands. His smile was genial, forgivable. ‘My bad,’ he admitted. ‘I’m sorry for causing you any upset. It was strictly unintentional and, even though I don’t know how I offended you, I’m genuinely sorry for doing it.’
    He was on his feet a moment later, opening the fridge door and plucking out a bottle of white wine. Rhona had put three glasses down on the table before Megan realised the woman had moved. The couple worked with the sort of close-knit choreography she knew she would never have with Max, regardless of how many times he striped her backside.
    Before she had a chance to tell the couple she didn’t drink wine, Charlie was pouring a conciliatory measure into the glass nearest to her and then filling one for himself and another for Rhona.
    Realising a refusal would offend, and deciding she had already risked enough upset with the neighbours, Megan picked up the glass and took a tentative sip. The drink wasn’t as vinegar-like as most