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had upset Lucy. She couldn’t remember the last time they had fallen out, probably over whose game it was back in primary school. She couldn’t remember a time when Amy wasn’t her friend. From playing hopscotch in the playground, through high school, and then moving to London together for their college days they had always been inseparable. It had been Amy’s shoulder she cried on when her parents’ marriage failed and her beloved father moved out, Amy who she went to for advice on everything, her love life, her career, such as it was, clothes, make-up, everything. During Lucy’s year in France they had e-mailed every week and spoken frequently.
    Amy had always seemed to know her better than herself. To be at odds with her tilted Lucy’s world at an angle she didn’t like at all and she had to ask herself what on earth she was doing. Why was she on her way to see a man, old enough to be her father, to discuss on only their third meeting the possibility of becoming his wife and giving him a child? Was she mad, sad or bad? Probably all three she decided.
    Still smarting from the disastrous reconciliation attempt with Laurent she knew the dangers of doing something on the rebound, but it wasn’t as if she was trying to tell herself she was falling in love with Marcus. Tired of lurching from one failed relationship to another, unwilling to accept their inevitable slide into familiarity, always craving the excitement and passion of a new love she relished the thought of a quiet and settled life. She would have the children she had wanted for so long, and if she was honest with herself the thought of being rich and cared for did appeal. A lot!
    Suddenly she felt a wave of anger, everyone was always telling her to take control of her life. Well she was going to and they all, including Amy, would have to like it or lump it! She felt free and empowered, something new to her and she liked it.
    The Mercedes pulled up in front of an imposing Edwardian house. It stood in a garden that was large for a London home with mature trees and shrubberies shielding it from its neighbours and giving complete privacy. As Saule saw her out of the car Marcus appeared from the house, and Lucy thought how much younger he seemed dressed in jeans and an open necked shirt than in his business suits. He put a hand on her shoulder and as he touched her lips with the briefest of kisses she caught a waft of his cologne. Suddenly she was somewhere else, with someone else. Laurent had always worn Le Male and as the familiar fragrance filled her senses she ached to be with him. The moment was fleeting, but when she looked up into those very green eyes their expression was quizzical. He doesn’t miss much, she thought.
    ‘ Come through to the terrace and have a drink. I’ve made a jug of Pimm’s, I hope you like it,’ he said.
    ‘ Mmm, one of my favourites,’ she replied following him into the house.
    They walked along an elegant lofty hallway, through an even more elegant drawing room, and out through French windows onto a stone terrace overlooking the garden.
    Taking a seat at the table with its stylish cream linen parasol she remarked, ‘This is a lovely house, Marcus.’
    ‘ Yes, isn’t it? It was Helena’s family home and she was very attached to it. Perhaps just a little too far from the centre of town to be really convenient, but it has many advantages. And of course there’s the flat in the Barbican when I need to be that bit closer.’
    Of course there is, she thought dryly.
    ‘Tell me about your wife, Marcus.’
    Busying himself with pouring the drinks she thought for a moment he was going to ignore this, but when he had set down their glasses he replied, ‘Helena was very special. Clever, cultured and endlessly resourceful. She was the best friend I have ever had.’
    ‘ You must miss her awfully.’
    This he did ignore, saying instead, ‘It’s a lovely evening but I think we may need to move indoors to eat, it still cools off