She felt the confusion in him, in herself. Suddenly she wanted Tommy Lane like she had never wanted anyone or anything before. He was here, a reminder of her past, her youth, her old life. He was like a big present, waiting to be opened. All she had to do was tear away the wrappings.

A new feeling swamped her body as the first slap of thunder trembled overhead. It started in her groin and its warmth spread gradually up into her stomach and breasts. She found, for the first time ever, that she couldn’t even talk, couldn’t speak to make her feelings known.

As she parted her lips, Tommy took her into his arms and kissed her hard. Bruising her mouth, he forced his tongue into her mouth, exploring her with it. Briony felt the feeling swamp her then, and she kissed him back, hard kisses, as they rubbed against one another’s bodies, discovering each other for the first time in over twenty years. They finally came together up against the scrubbed pine table, Briony hooking her slim legs around his waist and grinding her hips into him as she finally felt the sensations that had always been denied to her. Never had she expected to feel this passion in her lifetime.

She ground into him, crying out into the silent kitchen. A flash of lightning lit up the kitchen and they saw each other properly then. The feeling was enveloping her now, she was dying to capture it properly, and he was carried along with the want in her, now in him. She heard him groan and her heart raced. Don’t let this stop, she thought. Don’t cheat me now. And it didn’t. She felt the first tentative throes of orgasm, felt the hardness of Tommy inside her, and it was enough then. It was finally enough. Clutching at his hair she jerked in his arms, pulling him deeper and deeper inside her until there was nothing. No thunder, no storm, only the two of them. Together they shuddered and moaned and finally were spent. Briony felt the sweat on her brow, the dampness of her body. He held her to him, gently, firmly, and they felt the thundering of each other’s hearts.

Briony kissed his face. Little kisses over his eyes, his cheeks, and on his mouth. She held his face between her tiny hands and she knew, at last she knew. The mystery of man and woman. What had driven Kerry and Bernie, and what had driven Juliette Byron to write such a letter to her absent husband. She felt a flicker of jealousy for the women who had found this out when young, when well able to follow their star. She was forty-four years old and felt like a newborn.