As if in a dream she lay on the bed, face down. The man sat astride her in exactly the way Grover did. Long, strong strokes, up and down her spine. Smoothing very gently the tense back and shoulders.

‘Why has all this suddenly come up now, disturbed you now?’ Bud’s voice was very quiet now, and yet nearer, as if he had moved nearer. The man’s hands moved downwards to the bottom of her back just above her buttocks, stroking hard and pressing, stroking hard and pressing, over and over again, over and over again. Unconsciously she moved her legs slightly apart. Time was still, there in the room.

‘Do you suppose,’ said Juliet at last, her voice slightly husky, ‘that our past always catches us, in the end?’ The man had changed his weight, his hands were on her legs now, long firm hard strokes, up and down, up and down.

‘It does,’ said Bud. ‘I’m sure it does. Almost always. But I’ve always been of the opinion that we ought to own it, claim it, no matter what it is.’

‘Own our past?’

‘It’s what we are. It’s who we are.’ And she thought she heard him sigh.

Just at that moment the man allowed his fingers to smooth round her anus and then, underneath. He stroked her there, the oil on his fingers. Juliet made a soft sound. His hands returned to her back, long smooth strokes, up and down, calming her again.

‘Age. And desire, ‘ said Juliet Lyall and her voice too was like a sigh.

‘Yes,’ said Bud Martin gently, and the man’s fingers smoothed there where her legs parted and with another small cry she pressed against his hand.

‘Please turn over,’ said the man politely, moving off her for a moment.

As Juliet turned, her eyes half opening for a moment, she saw that Bud Martin was nearer, that he had moved nearer to the head of the bed. It was too late. Her eyes closed again. The man was astride her again, rubbed the oil into her nipples, gently at first, pinched them gently and then pulled at them harder and she arched upwards towards his hands, please, she whispered, please. Her eyes were very tightly closed.

Look at his face. Bud Martin’s voice came from somewhere, please, she whispered but louder, please, her eyes still closed, only feeling the man’s hands on her. He pulled at her nipples, less gently as she strained towards him, more urgently as she tried to push her breasts into his hands.