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glass. ‘The other thing, that was nice too,’ she said, daring to tease now.
    His smile broadened. The darkness faded from his eyes. ‘Just nice?’
    ‘Just exactly what I wanted.’
    He picked up his own glass, and took a long sip. ‘That’s a relief. I am not – I am not usually so – I’m afraid I must be out of practice.’
    ‘You are not the only one. It’s just as well we’ve got all night.’
    Justin placed his glass on the mantelpiece before crossing the room, setting her glass down too, and pulling her towards the hearth. ‘We have,’ he said, ‘and you know what they say.’
    ‘Practice makes perfect?’
    He smoothed her hair down, tucking it behind her ear. ‘Precisely.’
    Perhaps it was the firelight, or the lingering sense of well-being from that first, wild coupling, but this time was different. No longer starving, they could take time to taste. And yet as he kissed her, her mouth, her neck, her throat and down, this time removing her bodice so that his lips were warm on her skin, the craving grew just as fiercely inside her, as if it had not just been sated.
    Sensation. She was all sensation. Lying on the rug in front of the fire, wearing only her stockings. She was all nerve endings and tight muscles. She was an ache, and then a throb. She was burning. She was melting. When he entered her this time, it was like an enfolding, as if he belonged inside her, a part of her, that made her blossom from the inside, then bloom, and then finally climax, huge waves of it as he rocked inside her, his eyes dark with passion, holding hers, until he came too.
    Only after she remembered. ‘It was your turn. Your dream,’ Vera said. He was lying on top of her, naked. His head on her shoulder. She ran her fingers through his hair.
    ‘That,’ he said, ‘that’s what I wanted.’ He ran his hand down her flank. ‘Skin. Naked. Slow. Just so you know I can.’
    He kissed her again, then rolled away from her, coming back with a black quilt, which he wrapped around them both after topping up their champagne glasses. They sat side by side, sipping the tepid wine, watching the fire. Behind them, the Dream Suite was in darkness. Downstairs, the party would probably go on until dawn. Dexter would be pleased when they didn’t reappear. Not that he’d be around to see. Dexter was off to his new life. A new world, a new lover. Brave Dexter. Lucky Dexter.
    What would she do without him? A tear tracked its way down her cheek. She never cried, not in front of anyone, not any more, but Justin wasn’t anyone, and this place wasn’t anywhere. Another tear joined it, and then another. She made no attempt to stop them.
    ‘Vera?’
    She shook her head, trying to smile. A pathetic attempt, but it stopped the tears. She rubbed her eyes, careless of what was left of her dramatic make-up. ‘Do I look like a panda?’
    ‘Not a bit like a panda.’ Justin wiped her cheeks with his thumbs. ‘You look very beautiful and very tragic. Like Cleopatra. Do you want to tell me about it? In the spirit of the night,’ he said with a sad little smile. ‘What happens in the Dream Suite, stays in the Dream Suite.’
    ‘It won’t make any difference,’ Vera said. ‘It won’t change anything. It won’t turn the clock back.’
    ‘Is that what you want to do?’
    She sighed, and the sigh turned into a shiver. ‘I don’t let myself think that. What’s the point?’
    Justin frowned, twirling his empty champagne flute around in his fingers. He had nice hands. Long fingers, well-kept, the nails cut very short.
    ‘I don’t know,’ he said finally. ‘I wish to God I did. That would be my dream. Turn back the clock. I doubt very much it’s the kind of dream David Chatsfield had in mind for this suite though.’ He reached for the champagne bottle, and poured the remains into their glasses. ‘What the hell, we’ve got one night only, why don’t we give it a shot. You tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine. We’ll probably