‘What is it, Eric?’ I asked him, relieved to find my voice cool and casual. He didn’t say anything at first, just reached into the front pocket...of his jeans and pulled out a battered pack of Marlboros, lit one and put it back. I dropped my own cigarette into the clay pot reserved for the butts, and sat, watching him smoke. I saw a bead of sweat run down the side of his neck and down into his shirt and without thinking too hard about it, licked my lips. I would have to have been blind to not. “You’ll never believe what a difference the frames make to the triptych Mel,” she enthused. “When can you come over and see them?” We had visitors coming for a meal that evening so I said, “I’m going to be busy this evening but I could come over for an hour or so this afternoon.” I could feel her frustration even over the phone. “Oooh Mel. An hour or so wasn’t really what I had in mind. Can’t you come over for longer? Pleeeeese!” I then remembered that Roger had to go. More

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