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never see each other again.’
    She thought about this, and discovered that it wasn’t only that she was tempted, for once, to bring the darkness in her soul briefly out into the light. She wanted to know how hers compared to his. ‘A toast then,’ Vera said. ‘Not to turning back the clock, but to stopping it. Just for a while.’

Revelation and Unravellings
    Justin clinked his glass to hers. ‘To stopping the clock.’ An odd phrase, but he understood what she meant: the constant race, the urge to keep going and going, because to stop would be too painful, and would mean looking over your shoulder – no, he never did that. He wasn’t absolutely sure he wanted to do it now, but he did know he wanted to hear Vera’s story. This brittle, beautiful woman, who partied until dawn because she could not sleep, who lived such a shallow, empty life, because she was hollow. He wanted to know what had scooped her out. He wanted to understand what made her. He wanted to know if the emptiness around which that lovely shell existed was the same emptiness he harboured.
    She had finished her wine in one long swallow. He did the same. The bottle had probably cost the equivalent of a week’s pay in a shipyard, but it had about as much effect on him as a glass of tepid water. Vera stared into the fire. He waited, angling himself so he could see her face without distracting her, though when she spoke, she turned directly towards him.
    ‘I didn’t know Dexter before the War,’ she said, ‘but I gather he’s always been quite the
bon viveur
.’
    ‘We both were, before the War. Even when I took up my commission, I was based near London. We kicked up a lot of dust.’
    Vera raised her delicately-arched brows. ‘You! Really?’
    Justin shrugged. ‘What were you like, before?’
    ‘Oh, I was a good girl, I told you that.’
    ‘And yet now everyone thinks you’re a very bad girl. Even though you’re not.’
    ‘My good man, I’m sitting in the Dream Suite of the Chatsfield completely naked having just been screwed silly not once but twice,’ she drawled, ‘I rather think I’ve earned my reputation.’
    He kissed her on her luscious lips. ‘I am hoping to persuade you to be a very bad girl indeed, by the end of the night, but you’re prevaricating.’
    She sighed, and rolled her eyes. ‘I know, it’s a habit that’s very difficult to break. Where was I?’
    ‘Dexter.’
    Vera frowned down at her nails. ‘You know what he got out of our little charade. The world is a very cruel place to men like Dexter. It wasn’t that long ago that poor Mr Wilde was incarcerated for the “love that dare not speak its name”.’ Vera shuddered.
    ‘It’s a bloody disgrace. As if they haven’t suffered enough,’ Justin said bitterly. ‘To emerge from the trenches with any human spirit left at all is a miracle.’
    ‘You’re right, and that’s the big difference between Dexter and I. We both know that life can be snatched away without a moment’s notice, and we both act as if we’re determined to extract every ounce of enjoyment out of it before it does. But there, you see, is the rub. Dexter does enjoy it, while I – I am determined only to keep going.’ Vera grimaced. ‘So now that he no longer needs me as his poppet, I’ll have to find another role to play.’
    ‘Can’t you simply be yourself?’
    ‘Who is the real me? I could see you wondering that downstairs, and so was I. Do you know the real you?’ Vera pressed his hand, lifting it fleetingly to his lips. ‘I thought not.’ She sighed again. ‘I’m not telling this very well. I don’t know how to tell it.’
    ‘Start with the facts. Tell me about before.’
    ‘Before.’ She did not need to ask him what he meant. She was examining her hands again. They were shaking. She clasped them tightly together, bracing herself. When she looked up again, her face was set. ‘Before the War, I had long hair, and I wore my skirts long and kept my skin fresh. I was