Nick went on. “The usual: husband screwed her blind for the first eighteen months and then lost interest. Course, she was as horny as all get out. I don’t think she was actually on the lookout in Brighton.”

“No, just sea air and a plate of cockles,” Miranda snorted.

“Anyway, I dialogued her.”

“I bet.” Nick was soaping under his arms with his wife’s iris soap. “So how did you put the make on her?”

“Told her I’d show her how to make up her eyes.”

“Her eyes . . .”

“Did, too—bought some cosmetics in the Hilton.”

“Classy.”

“Took her to the café on the top floor, settled her there with a coffee.”

“With cream, I bet.”

“Hot milk, actually. You know how these girls are.”

“I wish I did.”

“She stayed quiet as a mouse, looking out over the park. I nipped downstairs, booked the room, and scored the eye make-up. They didn’t have much of a choice, so I improvised. Took her down two floors, put the ‘Do not disturb’ sign outside, and asked her to take her blouse off so as not to get it spotted.”

“Spotted?”

“From the mascara.”

Miranda gave him an old-fashioned look. “If she believed that . . .”

“Well, I think she realised she wasn’t there just for the demonstration.”

“Not with make-up, anyway.”

“Did the eyes though. Worked beautifully. Took about ten minutes. I gave the impression that I’d lost interest, then, when she thought that was all she was going to get . . .”

“You dropped onto all fives and crawled towards her.”

“How d’you guess?”

“That was chancy.”

“Not really. Her breath smelled nice, and I could tell by her skin tone that she was healthy.”

“Did you do everything?”

“Almost—she only had an hour and a half.”

“Did you turn her over?”

“I didn’t, but I could have. I really worked her over while she was coming the first time.”

“Did she suck you off?”

“Of course.”

“Really off?”

“Really off.”

“How many times did you come?”

“Just the once. Didn’t want to get caught short later.” He grinned, showing creamy teeth.

“D’you fancy a cuddle?”

“Later.”

“Not up to it, huh? Real studs provide at home—whatever they’ve been up to elsewhere.”

“Like who, for example?”

“Warren Beatty, I imagine.”

“Spare me—he’s priapic. It’s like cheating at cards.”

“Do you want me to look it up in the OED, or are you going to tell me?”

“What?”

“Priapic.”

“Medical condition. Guy whose joint stays erect after he’s shot his wad.”

“You never introduce me to boys like that.”

“She liked my crocodile shoes, the strawberry blonde,” said Nick, finding the exchange arousing and changing the subject so as not to allow his wife to get her way.

“Did she?”

“That’s what she told me. Obviously had an eye for a shoe.”

“Or a system of relating size of feet to size of member.”