Zeno managed a lopsided grin.

Phyllis journeyed home across London on the Underground. She had two more trips before she could be home in bed. She did not like parties, and although she did not find it difficult to hold her own in a group, she preferred her discussions one on one. It wasn’t that Phyllis was anti-social, but her train of thought was often laboured, and in company she was frequently considered slow, or moody. Actually, the opposite was the case; it was the very passion of her mind that made social pleasantries difficult.

Her flatmate had sensed this about her, and it proved to be the factor which helped her most in the initial seduction. Julia was ranked amongst England’s tennis players—which did not mean a lot in terms of world classification, but it did mean she was invited to Wimbledon. It was there she spotted Phyllis. Their relationship wasn’t strictly physical, yet it wasn’t particularly emotional either. In giving herself, Phyllis felt that she had at last unravelled some of her confusion. Relief rather than exaltation. Yet she enjoyed the companionship, and being with someone gratified instincts she had long held at bay.

Julia stopped competing professionally soon after they met, and had used her money to open an elite health club. Phyllis had sidestepped an offer to be a partner in the venture. However, the club had flourished, and the two saw less of each other.

“As in marriage,” Phyllis had commented matter-of-factly when Julia announced business was briskest in the evening and she would often be home late. The invitation to supper that Julia had accepted on their behalf was something new; Phyllis usually declined invitations made via Julia, as the gatherings were inevitably all-female.

“Just because we’re gay doesn’t mean we’re freaks that have to stick together—it’s not like we’re lepers.”

This was different, Julia assured her. A sophisticated woman impressed with her know-how had invited Julia to advise her on the refurbishment of her private gymnasium.

“Come to supper, and bring your friend. I’ll show you the space, and we can talk about it,” was what she had said.

Julia had told Phyllis, “I’m sure it’s going to be fun. She has a pool in her house. Come on—let’s sparkle a bit.” Phyllis had allowed herself to be talked into ‘sparkling’, but as usual, now that the occasion was imminent, she felt herself withdrawing, preferring an undemanding evening at home with Winston.

She strap-hung until Holborn, where she changed trains and a well-dressed older man offered her his seat. This unexpected comfort relaxed her, and she gazed absentmindedly through the window at an advertisement posted on the curved wall. The automatic doors finally closed and the train moved off.

As it did, Phyllis saw the illustration on the advertisement change—or thought she did. It was as though she had slipped momentarily into a dream. What had been a seascape selling a cruise line became a night scene with a group around an open fire.