f you happened to be in Manhattan’s financial district at the end of a sunny March afternoon and found yourself walking past a certain bagel shop at around six P.M., and glanced in through the large plate-glass window, you would stop for a second and smile, reassured to see two people so obviously meant for each other.

Joe and Josie certainly look like two people fallen very much in love. They have been cozied up in the corner for nearly an hour now, the first part of which was awkward and strained, but now they are on more familiar, flirtatious territory, and Joe is feeling an excitement he hasn’t felt in far too long.

Josie was intending to be cool. She intended to show Joe just what he was missing, just what he left behind when he walked out of her life without so much as a phone call afterward to see how she was.

She had wanted to laugh with a cool toss of her hair, to deflect his advances with just the right amount of graciousness, and perhaps a hint of scorn to make her feel better.

But she’s missed him. She didn’t even realize quite how much until she saw him again. She’s sitting here now, listening to him tell amusing stories about his weekend country wreck, and she’s gazing down at his hands, those fingers that are so familiar to her, that used to know every inch of her skin so well, and her own hand, resting only a few inches away from his, is almost hurting from the strain of not reaching over and touching him.

Damn. It wasn’t meant to be like this. She’s half listening to him, smiling in all the right places, but her mind is back in her apartment in London, back in her bedroom, back in the days when she would watch him climb out of bed and pull her up to join him in the shower before he went home to his wife.

There’s a silence and Josie looks up. Joe has stopped talking, is waiting for her to respond, but she has no idea what he’s been talking about, what he has asked.

“My wife’s in the country,” he says finally. “I’m supposed to be on the seven o’clock train.”

Josie nods. She’s not sure what she’s meant to say, although her heart beats just a little faster at the word “supposed.”

Joe takes a deep breath. “My workload is rather heavy at the moment. I was thinking that perhaps I oughtn’t to be going to the country....” He stares into Josie’s eyes. “I was thinking that perhaps I ought to stay in Manhattan this weekend.”

Josie just looks at him, her blank expression belying her racing mind.

There are two types of unfaithful married men. Those who are genuinely unhappy in their marriage, but are too lazy or too scared to leave. Perhaps there are children involved, perhaps they are just too cowardly, but either way it is easier for these men to stay married and have affairs, and one day they may or may not meet someone for whom they feel so strongly it becomes impossible for them to keep going home to someone else they do not love.

And then there is the second type, who are far more dangerous. These are the men who are very happily married. Men who love their wives, depend on them, but are addicted to having affairs. Men like Joe Chambers.

Josie thinks Joe falls into the former type, but mistresses always do, otherwise what would be the point? Here he is, nearly a year after she last saw him, and he’s offering to spend the weekend with her. Yes, he’s still with his wife, but surely not happy, and clearly the attraction between them is as strong as it has always been. And perhaps Josie is right. For years Joe was happy with Alice, but now their marriage seems to be on distinctly shaky ground, and Joe has moved adeptly from the latter type of unfaithful man to the former. As Josie had hoped.

“Alone?” Josie says eventually, raising an eyebrow.

Joe looks down at the table, at Josie’s hand resting so close to his own, and he slides his hand over to hers, gently stroking her thumb with his own. Josie closes her eyes for a second, savoring the feeling, wondering how she could have gone so long without him, and when she opens them Joe is smiling.

“We could have dinner,” he says. “I know a great Italian place near my apartment.”

“How do you know I don’t already have plans?”

“I don’t. I’m hoping.”

“Just dinner?” Josie knows it’s not just dinner, it’s never been just dinner, but his fingers are now entwined with hers and she doesn’t have the strength to resist.

“Let me call my wife,” Joe says slowly, reluctantly removing his hand as he reaches for his mobile phone. He stands up and walks outside, presses the earpiece into his ear as he paces up and down just outside the bagel shop.

“Hello?” Alice is lost inside the Rachel Danbury novel when the phone rings, and her voice is distracted.

“Hi, darling, it’s me.”

“Are you at the station?”

“No, darling. Look, I’ve got some bad news. I’m afraid that Brazilian client I was telling you about wants some more work done to the roadshow presentation this weekend, and wants me to take him out tomorrow night and show him some of the sights, so I’m going to have to stay in town.”

“What Brazilian client?”

“Darling,” Joe affects a patronizing laugh. “I did tell you. My meeting today. You never remember anything.”

Alice doesn’t deny it. She’s finding it harder and harder to pretend to be interested in Joe’s work. Lately, stories about clients, and presentations, and emerging markets are tending to go in one ear and straight out the other. “Sorry.” She shrugs. “I’m sure you did tell me. So you’re not coming down?”

“Do you mind, darling? I know it’s been two weeks, but you’re coming up this week, aren’t you? We’ve got that charity benefit on Wednesday.”

“Oh, yes.” Bugger. She’d forgotten.

“Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Alice says, irritated that he’s letting her down again, but relieved that he won’t be around on Saturday, whining that he’s bored, insisting that she comes shopping with him to Greenwich when she’d much rather be mooching around the house or doing local errands. “Couldn’t you come down on Sunday?” Alice ventures. “Just for the day?”

“Maybe,” Joe says appeasingly. “I’ll have to see. What are your plans this weekend?”

“Not much,” Alice says distractedly, wanting to get back to her book. “I’m reading the Rachel Danbury novel and I can’t put it down, so I’ll probably get nothing done at all.” She laughs.

“You’re probably thrilled I’m not coming then,” Joe says, relieved to hear her laugh, relieved she hasn’t given him a hard time. “You can read and garden as much as you want.”

“That’s true. But do try for Sunday, Joe. You are my husband, I would like to see you from time to time.”

“I know, darling. I will. Promise. Listen, gotta go, but I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.”

Alice smiles. “I love you more.”

“I know.” Joe flips his phone shut and walks slowly back inside to where Josie is sitting, so temptingly, in the corner.

Alice sighs as she puts the phone down. As much as she loves it here, there are times when she feels lonely, and as much as Joe drives her mad when he’s here—his fish-out-of-water act began to grate many, many months ago—she nevertheless looks forward to his company on the weekends.

But at least this weekend she has her book, and it’s true, she hasn’t been able to put it down, so engrossed has she become in its pages. Curling up on the sofa, she picks up the book again and loses herself in a Highfield that’s long since disappeared, a Highfield that was a true country village, a community of writers and artists, back in 1947.

At eight-thirty Alice realizes that not only is she starving, there’s also a chill in the air and her feet are like blocks of ice. She lets Snoop outside while she puts a pan of boiling water on the stove and pours in some pasta, throwing together a spinach salad while it boils.

Alice sits at the kitchen counter to eat, the book open in front of her as she continues to read, and after supper, when she’s washed up and the kitchen is sparkling, she and Snoop head upstairs.

Alice takes the book to bed and switches on the bedside lamp, reading in the soft apricot glow as Snoop lies outstretched on the duvet beside her.

At 11:45 she’s still reading, but the yawns are coming thick and fast and reluctantly Alice closes the book and reaches sleepily for the phone. Surely Joe is back by now, she’ll just phone to say good night. She holds the receiver to her ear and listens to the phone ringing until the machine picks up. She calls his mobile but that’s switched off too. With a sigh she flicks off the light and closes her eyes.

Within minutes she’s fast asleep.

At 11:45 Joe and Josie have just finished what Joe could only term a marathon session. He’s exhausted, exhilarated, and, despite his thirty-eight years, almost ready to do it all over again.

He lies on his side and grins at Josie, reaching across to brush away the hair that’s fallen into her eyes.

“Wow,” he says softly.

“Wow.” She smiles in return.

“Would you be insulted if I told you I’d forgotten how fanfuckingtastic you are?”

Josie shrugs. “Would you be insulted if I told you I’d forgotten how infuckingcredible you are?”

Joe laughs. “Josie, I’ve missed you. I swear to God I’ve thought about you, but I just didn’t want to screw up your life anymore.”

Josie sits up. “But you didn’t screw up my life. I knew the score.”

Joe sighs. “I know. But you were different somehow.”

Josie squints at him. “Different because I’m a ball-breaker?”

“If that’s ball-breaking, you can break my balls anytime.”

“Ouch. Sounds painful.”

Joe laughs. “On second thought I think it might be. But seriously, Josie, I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” Josie says. It’s not necessary to ask how she was different. It’s enough to hear him tell her she was. Nor is it necessary to say he hurt her anyway. Not necessary to tell him how much she cared, how devastated she was when he just disappeared. He’s back now. That’s all that matters. “You didn’t. Hurt me, that is.”

“Are you sure? Because I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. You know that.”

“I do,” Josie says, and even though she doesn’t, she wants to believe that’s true. Josie wants to ask him what happens now. Wants to know whether this is a one-night stand or whether they’ll resume where they left off, but she doesn’t want to scare him off, not when she has him back, and she knows, she remembers, how Joe loves the thrill of the chase, and she knows she mustn’t show him how she really feels. “You’d better go,” she says, leaning over to kiss him, enjoying the look of surprise on his face.

“Go? You’re not serious. Why? I’m on my own this weekend, remember? I can stay.”

“No you can’t,” Josie says, even though she wants him to stay more than anything in the world, wants to wake up in the morning and roll over to see him sleeping beside her. “I have things to do and it’s better if you go.”

Joe shakes his head in disbelief, but climbs out of bed and starts to gather his things. Josie pulls on a robe and walks him to the door and slides her arms around his neck as she kisses him good-bye.

“Oh God,” Joe moans. “Please let me stay.”

“No.” Josie smiles to herself, knowing that however hard this may be, it’s the right strategy if she wants to keep him. “You have to go.”

“What about tomorrow?” Joe says hopefully, standing in the hallway. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

“Call me,” Josie says as she shuts the door. “Call me and we’ll see.”

Joe falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. He wakes in the morning at eight o’clock and the very first thing he thinks about is Josie, or more specifically, sex with Josie. Jesus, it was good. He has to see her again. Today. Now. As soon as possible. He picks up the phone and calls her.

Josie, just in from the gym, stands in her kitchen cradling her coffee and looks at the caller ID that’s flashing on her phone. Joe. She stands there and lets the machine pick up.

“Josie? It’s me. Joe. Just phoning to see how you are. Give me a call when you get in. Talk to you later. Bye.”

Half an hour later Joe calls again, but this time he doesn’t leave a message, just puts the phone down as the machine picks up.

By three o’clock in the afternoon Joe has tried Josie nine times. Josie is having to physically sit on her hands to prevent herself from answering the phone, but hard as it is, she knows she’s doing the right thing.

At eight o’clock that evening Josie calls him back.

“Hello?”

“Joe? It’s Josie.”

“Hi! How are you?” His voice is casual, and Josie smiles. He has no idea she knows he’s been trying her all day.

“Fine, thanks. How are you?”

“I’m great. Busy.”

“Oh, yes? What have you done today?”

“Working. Gym. Some errands.” All with his mobile phone, from which he continued to try to reach Josie. “Listen, what are you up to now?”

“Now?” Josie had already worked out her speech. She would tell him she was off to a dinner party, therefore not only could she not see him, she would also be implying she had an active social life, was in demand by other people.

“Yes, now.”

“I’m going to a dinner party,” Josie says, as planned.

“Oh. Couldn’t you get out of it? I’ve been thinking about you all day, I’m desperate to see you.”

“Um.” She knows she ought to say no, but the words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. “I suppose I could get out of it.”

“Great!” Joe cannot hide the enthusiasm in his voice. “How about going out? There’s a party going on downtown tonight. Why don’t I pick you up in an hour?”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you in an hour.”

“Wow!” Joe does a slow wolf whistle as Josie steps out of the lift in a pink print Diane von Furstenberg dress, wrapping sexily around her tiny waist, the skirt opening slightly every time she walks.

“You like the dress?”

“I love the dress. In fact, are you sure you want to go out?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Josie smiles as Joe slips his arms around her waist and kisses her slowly.

“Still sure?” Joe smiles into her eyes.

“Still sure,” Josie smiles back. “Plenty of time for that later.”

The party is in a huge loft in Tribeca, in a desperately trendy building that used to be an icehouse. The doorman wearily directs them up to the sixth floor, where they can hear the noise as soon as the elevator door opens.

The music’s thumping and the lights are so dim it’s difficult to make out the mass of people. It’s the kind of party Alice would hate, the kind of party that Joe adores. It makes him feel as if he’s regressed back to his twenties, with his whole life still ahead of him, as if anything is possible.

Everywhere they look there are people laughing, talking loudly above the din, dancing wildly as the music gets louder and louder. Joe and Josie push their way through to the makeshift bar and each do two tequila shots.

“I feel like I’m eighteen again,” Josie shouts into Joe’s ear after biting into the wedge of lime that he’s holding out for her.

“I know,” Joe shouts back. “Isn’t it great?”

“Wanna dance?” Josie raises an eyebrow, and Joe nods as she takes his hand and leads him over to the space that’s rapidly filling up with writhing bodies.

The music changes to salsa, and Josie laughs as she grabs Joe’s hand and tries to teach him how to salsa. He picks it up quickly, and the two of them dance together for a while, each enjoying the buzz from the tequila, the music, the very fact that they still find one another as exciting as they remembered, if not more so. That they are behaving like a couple of teenagers out on a first date.

Effectively this is a first date for Joe and Josie. Their affair in London was always conducted behind closed doors, for fear of someone seeing them. Joe was far too well known in London to risk being caught with Josie in a situation like this.

Here in New York Joe is feeling a freedom he never felt in London. He is truly exhilarated to be with Josie again, to be having great sex again, exciting sex, to experience the thrill of the extramarital fling. And in New York Joe still feels anonymous, safe. Can risk dancing groin to groin with Josie in public. Can risk throwing back tequila shots safe in the knowledge that home, or Josie’s home, is a cab ride away. Can risk looking deep into Josie’s eyes and stroking her hair as he leans forward and slides his tongue into her mouth as she gasps at the newness and familiarity of it all.

“Honey, I’m tired,” Gina shouts into George’s ear. “Can we go now?”

“Sure,” George smiles at his wife. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Gina and George wind their way through the crowd, when suddenly Gina stops. “Look!” she says excitedly, and then she freezes. George turns to look at her to see if she’s okay, then turns to see what she’s looking at, what has caused her to stand as still as a statue.

He turns and follows her stare and sees, just in front of them, Joe Chambers.

Joe Chambers passionately kissing someone who resembles Alice, but who very definitely is not Alice.

Gina had thought she was Alice, was about to throw her arms around her, until Joe pulled away and Gina saw she’d been fooled by the slim body and blond hair. The face is not Alice’s, and Gina stands there foolishly, not knowing what to do.

She wishes she’d never seen anything, wishes she could turn back the clock to just a minute ago, wishes she could have pushed past different people, taken a different route out, but as she stands there thinking these thoughts Joe, clearly sensing eyes on him, turns his head.

“Fuck,” he whispers as he sees Gina and George, takes in the shock in their eyes. “Oh, fuck.” The four of them stand there looking at each other, nobody knowing what to say, Josie not knowing what’s going on, until Gina finally clears her throat.

“Hello,” she says icily, nodding at Josie. “I’m Gina. Alice’s best friend. Oh, do you know Alice? She’s Joe’s wife.”

Josie merely looks at her. What can she say?