Zachary poured more of the rose-petal spirit, then sat down with his arm around Christine again; Alex put another log in the stove. They all slid down to stretch out full length on the cushions, and had given up on talking in complete sentences – they may have been exaggerating their drunkenness, clearing a way through to what happened next. Lying in the space between the two women, Alex began kissing Christine on the neck, under her hair. After a while he turned to Lydia and kissed her too, as if it were only fair; he was stroking Christine at the same time, his hand was moving on her lazily. Both the women made sleepily responsive noises, to convey they were only half conscious of what was happening. Then Christine turned over on her side towards Zachary. Smiling, she kissed him full on the mouth, tasting the liquor and the dope and all the piquant familiarity and strangeness of him – when they’d made love together such a long time ago, he hadn’t had a beard. Alex’s hand was gliding over the top of her dress and then sliding underneath it, exploring; sometimes his hands were on her and sometimes they were on Lydia, sometimes he was touching them both at once. Christine turned around to give her attention to Alex again and Zachary came cuddling up behind so that she felt his beard against her bare back, his purposeful kisses moving down her spine, on the bare skin between her shoulder blades. Lydia with her arm flung out found Christine’s hand. Zachary was pushing the straps of Christine’s dress from her shoulders and Alex was exploring with one hand under the lacy white fabric of Lydia’s bodice. He seemed intent on Lydia but with his other hand he was searching intently too, fumbling down between Christine’s knees, pushing apart the thick folds of the material of her dress, finding his way up.

Later that night, when they were alone in the new spare room, Christine interrogated Alex incredulously. — Would you? Would you really have done it?

They were half-undressed in the lamplight, still excited; she was kneeling over him where he lay on his back on the bed with his suit jacket and shoes off, shirt unbuttoned halfway. The blue dress was pushed up around her thighs. — Would you have gone through with it? Are you disappointed?

His hazel eyes were gleaming, pupils dilated. — Would you?

Christine was amazed by what they’d done. — What came over us? We must have been mad! But really, how could we have arranged things, if they’d gone on any further? I mean, what …?

— And are you disappointed?

She was laughing but put her hand over his mouth to stop him, said she couldn’t think about it, they mustn’t think. Or at least they mustn’t speak their thoughts aloud. Her hair was falling down from where it had been pinned, her make-up was smudged under her eyes, her face was blurry and dissolute with tiredness and drink, she was thoroughly desirable in that moment of their married love.