Sometimes I thank my stars that I’ve got you, Sarah.’ He reached out and took her hand.

Sarah gulped. Oh well, it was now or never. She let her long, slender fingers toy with his square ones, moving her body slightly so that her breast was outlined against her blouse.

‘Do you think I’m a flighty piece, darling?’ She was being a little girl for him, teasing with a hint of sex.

He stroked her wrist and said, ‘You? My little homing pigeon, pretty and sweet and loving, that’s what you are.’

‘Mother thinks I am. She thinks you won’t ever let me out of your sight.’

She stretched a leg and leaned back, knowing that she was buying his agreement with the promise of things to come.

‘What are you after, you little baggage?’

‘Will you let me leave you for a weekend? I’ll make it up to you, I promise. You’ll see.’

Douglas sat up and dropped her hand. ‘A weekend? Sarah, what on earth are you on about?’

‘Friday evening to Sunday afternoon, that’s all. It’s an art weekend, and I do so want to go. You’ve no idea how bored I’ve been recently and it’s exactly what I want. They assess how good you are and what you should consider doing and—look, here’s the leaflet.’ She thrust it at him, surprised to see her hands trembling with eagerness. Douglas scanned it briefly.

‘Really, Sarah! If you ask me you’ve fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book. Of course they’ll say you’re wonderful, provided they can get you to sign up for a dozen more weekends at God knows what price. I should have thought you’d know better. Anyway, what’s this sudden enthusiasm for art, may I ask?’

Foolishly tears pricked her eyelids and she blinked furiously. ‘It’s not a sudden enthusiasm, you know I’ve always been good at painting and things. I enjoy it. And now the children are at school I thought—I do so want to go, Douglas. All the food’s in the freezer and Mother will come, and Mrs Burton can pop in on Sunday and—’

‘Darling, darling, darling.’ Douglas caught her hands and drew her to him, letting her bury her face in his chest. ‘You’ve been getting in quite a state, haven’t you? Do you really mean to tell me that you would rather spend a few days in the company of a bunch of hippies, half of them smoking pot if I’m any judge, than be with your husband and children? I find it hard to believe.’

‘Well, of course I don’t—and it’s only two days—Douglas, I want to go!’

‘Dear, dear me. Poor Sarah. I should have realised, darling, it’s been awful for you since Joanne went to nursery. You’re lonely, poor sweet. How would you like a holiday? We could go back to John’s villa in Genoa or—’

‘I don’t want a holiday, I want this course!’ Sarah pulled away and glared at him. Douglas blinked in surprise. ‘It’s only two days and it would be fun,’ she insisted, her voice shaking with the threat of tears. ‘It would be my own thing to do by myself. Who knows, I might even be able to make something of it if I got some advice.’

‘Whatever do you mean? Sell things or something? Sarah darling. I’m not about to put you on the breadline, however many fur-trimmed jackets your mother buys.’

‘But it’s not the money!’ All at once the impossibility of explaining it to him became overwhelming. She flopped back into her chair and said dully, ‘You won’t let me go. Will you?’

Douglas looked bewildered. ‘But—there’s no reason for you to go.