Claire

"I would like to give you a meal."

A doubtful look appeared on her face and she shook her head slightly. "That might not be a good idea. Peter and I used to eat out a lot before and I am known at all the restaurants."

"No - at my house. I want to cook something for you."

The doubtful looked remained and this prompted him to rush on, "It's not like that - not what you think. I just wanted to look after you. Do you something nice to eat - you said that you got hungry. You will be quite safe." Then, before she could speak he went on, "Yes, perhaps you are right. That isn't a good idea either. I should never have asked. I'm sorry that I have embarrassed you."

Claire stepped forward and touched his face gently with her fingers. "Trevor - I would be honoured to let you cook me a meal."

Overcome by happiness, he placed a hand on each of her shoulders and just held her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the driver walking towards her bus. Ducking clear of Trevor's grasp she started walking sideways away from him and then a terrible thought hit her. "Trevor - I don't know where you live," she called out in horror.

Trevor stopped as if in consternation but as her running feet neared the bus he caught with her and thrust a piece of paper into her hands. "My address - it's printed on that."

Safe at the steps of the bus she could afford to stop and give him a smile. "What time should I come?"

"Anytime - 12 o'clock."

She got home slightly later than intended and bustled about knocking together a quick meal. Peter again had not spoken to her but at least today he had acknowledged her return with a nod of his head. There was an advantage in his having become even more uncommunicative for there was no need to pretend that she was still job hunting. It would have been a strain inventing non-existent jobs and interviews.

After the meal she felt restless and could not face the thought of spending the evening sitting in silence, mindlessly watching the television. She opened the back door half intending to take refuge in the garden but everywhere was dripping wet and the clouds gave threat of a renewed downpour. The kitchen was immaculate with not the slightest task left to do and she retreated from the bedroom almost as soon as she arrived, not wanting to come face to face with herself in the mirror.

Claire found herself bending in front of the open drinks cabinet without being aware that she had made a conscious decision to do so. She grabbed a bottle and walked to stand in front of her husband and held it up to him. She was not asking permission to open it although, in the past, Peter had been most pedantic about his wine and which one was the correct to drink for any given occasion, Instead she was tentatively offering to pour a glass for him. Thankfully, he shook his head. The only good factor during this long period of depression was that he had not taken to drink; in fact he had not touched a drop. Many other men reduced to such a low mental level would have spent their days in a constant state of drunken insensibility. At least she had been spared that. But then she thought 'Was there really any difference?'

She went back into the kitchen, got out a wineglass and filled it. The wine was rather a good one which should have been sipped and savoured, but she swallowed it in one gulp and refilled the glass. It was no use - she could not keep skating round the subject in the centre of her mind. However unwilling she was to confront it, there was something there which needed to be faced, sooner or later.

What was there to think about. All that she had done was spend an afternoon chastely holding hands with a very nice man. No kissing, no groping. Big deal! But her thoughts while holding those hands not been chaste had they? Not by a long way! And she knew - neither had his for she had been able to feel his need vibrating from him into her fingers. Was her need also so obvious? No - women were much more contained than the male sex. Men were so overt - transparent in their emotions. Place a beautiful woman in a room full of strange men and although the males may be able to control their facial expressions, the lust will still burn from their eyes. Reverse the situation to many women with a male object of desire and, although they may have the same ache within them, all that an observer would see from them would be a cool gaze of appraisal.

Her need? Yes, godammit, she had a need. After nine long months of denial what woman would not have a need - particularly one who had enjoyed an exceptional sex life for the previous twenty years. Not long before the redundancy changed their lives, she remembered reading that the norm for couples married as long as them was twice a week. It had been hard to believe - how the hell did they manage to get to sleep on the other five nights?

But admitting a need did not mean that she had to satisfy it. There was the question of loyalty.

For those twenty years Peter had satisfied in an exemplary manner both her financial and bodily requirements but now he had hit a bad batch - did she not owe it to him to remain steadfast and not seek her own satisfaction on the side. Fine - if she could think that it would be all over by Xmas or even this time next year but he might be like the for ever. A year ago it was inconceivable that Peter could fall so far. He had been invincible. Since she had known him, every thing that he had touched had been crowned with success but at the first real set-back he had crumbled to nothing. It was like those Martians in the film War of the Worlds, nothing could stop them and then suddenly they were gone. The redundancy had been Peters Achilles heel. The day that he received the bad news he had said, 'I'll never get a position at the same level again,' and from that moment had set out to single-handedly make that prediction come true.

Claire refilled her glass. Was this the third or the fourth? It might even be the fifth. But what the hell it was helping her to think.

'It was a matter of character' she decided. Peter was exceptionally good looking, had a brilliant brain and undoubted charisma but this was his fatal flaw. He was all front with nothing to back it up. All his life had been dealt winning hands but as soon as the expected plum did not fall to him on cue, he had refused to play - taken his bat home like a spoiled child. In contrast, Trevor had character. He had never drawn good cards and yet he had played them all to the best of his ability.

She could have a small affair without it necessarily being an act of disloyalty for there was a good argument to show that it could preserve her marriage. For the last nine months it had been in the equivalent of being in the trenches. During that time she had managed to remain remarkably placid and level headed but there were signs that she was beginning to suffer from shell-shock. What else had her futile job hunting been but a desperate attempt to break out of the situation in which she found herself? How long could she go on? How long before she either walked out or joined Peter in his pit of misery? What she needed was some 'Rest and Relaxation'. A chance to recuperate, recharge her batteries. Might not a small affair allow her to return renewed to face life until the cloud lifted from her husband's life?

Just going for lunch at Trevor's house did not mean that anything else was bound to happen.

She was sure that her friend had no ulterior motives. He was certainly not going to pounce on her. Trevor was a true gentleman. One of natures gentlemen - it was inherent in him. When the occasion demanded, Peter could be chivalrous. At his best he would be able to leave Trevor standing when it came to chivalry but it was all for the gesture, the effect that it would create in the mind of others with no real consideration involved. Trevor believed that women were special creatures to be cherished and treated with consideration but her husband's philosophy was that they were there only for housekeeping and bed. Trevor certainly had some very loveable traits when contrasted with Peter.

Claire felt unsteady on her legs. She was still standing by the cupboard where she kept the glasses but now she walked to sit on a chair by the kitchen table, taking the bottle with her.

It was up to her. Would she sleep with Trevor? She wanted to but was that enough reason? Yes, she did want to - and this was the first time she had actually admitted the fact to herself. There were still a lot of reasons why she should not. For twenty years she had been a loyal and faithful wife and there was a lot invested in that. Once she cheated on Peter, in her own mind at least, she would always be a cheat - no matter if it only happened the once. It was a lot to throw away on a whim. It was not unlike losing virginity.

All right. Suppose that she remained true to her marriage vows, how would the relationship with Trevor continue? Could it continue for long on a strictly platonic basis? One thing was certain in all the confusion; she did want it to continue. These last three mornings, she had awoken filled with a joyous anticipation compared to the dull feeling of dread with which she had started the day for the past months. What would they do every day if they continued to meet? Was it to be a diet of café or cinema with the park as an option on sunny days?

How much of the pleasure gained during the past week had been purely the novelty of the situation, the fact that she was enjoying the company of another man for the first time in so long? Had it been the knowledge that she was flirting with danger which provided that adrenaline tingle or was there really something between herself and this man who had been a complete stranger much less than one week ago?

'Was Trevor just a whim?' she didn't know. Claire was aware that her brain was starting to get fuddled and it had been so crystal clear when she had started to drink. And the bottle was empty. She dropped it in the trash can and made her way slowly to bed. Deep untroubled sleep had overtaken her, long before her husband joined her.

Next morning Claire woke tingling with anticipation. She went round happily doing the small tasks that needed her attention then got some chicken pieces out of the freezer and left them to defrost. As she worked a succession of tunes went through her head and at times she found herself singing them aloud. They were the popular songs of her teenage years pulled out of cold storage in her memory for the occasion. Then she indulged in a long hot shower and spent an extended period applying her make-up with extra care.

Downstairs she found that Peter had unusually eaten the breakfast that she had left for him and was really reading the newspaper. He looked up with just a flash of his old self and said "You seem very happy with yourself this morning."

"I have a feeling that it is going to be a good day."

"You have also got yourself looking very nice. A promising interview? he asked without a trace of nastiness.

The direct lie was beyond her. "No - but I am going to see someone that I have seen before."

Folding his newspaper, Peter got up and walked across to the window saying, "You know, I thought that I might go out and do a bit in the garden today." But then he looked out and cursed "It's a quagmire out there. What is the fucking use?"

Claire could visibly see the cloud descending back over his eyes.

At that moment she heard the mail hit the mat. Walking into the hall she picked up the two envelopes. One was a large glossy thing informing that they were among the finalists in a quarter of a million pound prize draw. Claire dropped it straight into the rubbish and carried the other letter through.

From the depths of his chair, her husband looked up with the remnant of a forlorn hope that survived within him. "Just another bill," Claire told him as she placed it in the bureau.

Then she was gone.

Today she took the car. Although Trevor had mentioned that he lived within walking distance of the city, the benefits of travelling by bus had gone. There would be no problem parking the car and if she did have trouble locating his house then being properly mobile would be an advantage. In the event, with the help of the Satnav, she drove straight there. A patch of spare ground made a convenient parking place and it was only as she walked away from the car that she regretted not having checked for broken glass first.

The street had once been typically 'inner city' but a nearby prestigious riverside development had imparted upward mobility to the whole area. In consequence about two thirds of the houses had been taken by young couples who had enhanced their properties with paint jobs, window boxes and shiny brass door furniture. Trevor's house was one that had been left au natural. Inside she would find it terribly small and most of the furniture, which had obviously been brought from a much larger property, sadly out of place.

Trevor opened the door with a beam of welcome on his face but Claire thought that he looked rather harassed. There was a thin film of perspiration on his brow and a large dark smudge on his cheek that had gone unnoticed. Inside the door, his arm twitched as if he was unsure whether to shake hands with her not so she stepped forward and gave him a light kiss slightly to the side of his mouth. He took her coat and then led her to the main room where the table was already set. There were two lighted candles and a single rose in a long stemmed glass by one of the place settings.

Her host had tried hard but it was obvious that he was no cook. Everything had been prepared using fresh ingredients but he might have been better using a proprietary ready meal, for the meat had been allowed to go dry and the vegetables were more than a little undercooked. Over the years, her husband had proved himself to be a superb cook but rarely practised the skill. Only when they were entertaining had Peter frequently stepped in to take over. Then later, when the guests were showering her with enthusiastic comments on the meal, Peter had sat in modest silence and it was left to her to point out that the complements were not for her as Peter had done it all. Despite the failings, Claire thought that on balance she enjoyed Trevor's humble but caring effort more than her husband's perfect productions.

They ate in silence but exchanged frequent smiles.

She dutifully told him how much she had enjoyed the food. He offered coffee and while he was away preparing it she tried to think of something to talk to him about but her mind was barren. They sipped the coffee but now had started avoiding each others eyes. Claire asked a couple of questions, realising both times as soon as the words were out of her mouth that she had been given that information during the previous days but he didn't remind her and instead answered at length as if it was a new subject. Apart from that, Trevor had no conversation at all.

When they could no longer pretend that there was still coffee to drink, he jumped up and offered her wine. She did not feel like wine but agreed because she needed something to occupy her. Although they both drank the liquor did not manage to loosen either of their tongues.

The silence grew. Claire felt the need to break it but felt that anything she might say would sound trite and artificial.

"I am glad that you came - I didn't think that you would," he said at last.

"I wanted to come."

"It is nice having you here."

"I like it too. I feel so relaxed."

The silence started to close once more. "Yes, it's nice having you here," he said again.

"Alone."

"Just the two of us."

"Nobody else around."

"All by ourselves."

"That's the trouble," he said. I could show the rest of the house, the kitchen, the...upstairs, I just don't want you to think that..." Trevor was looking anywhere in the room but at her.

Claire stood up, walked round the table and crouched down by his knee. Taking his hands in hers she said softly, "I will go to bed with you, you know,"

The pent-up breath came out of his body in an explosive burst. He leapt up, pulled her to her feet and crushed her body against his. They kissed for a long time.

It was Claire who first pulled back and looked significantly upward. Taking her hand he led her upstairs and into his bedroom. It was just that - a bedroom, a place for sleeping - no more. Trevor had made no attempt to personalise it. The furniture, oversized for the room, was obviously that which he had available. A wardrobe, a chest of drawers but no dressing table - not even a mirror. It was the room of a man who lives alone.

Dropping her hand, Trevor walked across and drew the curtains. She waited. He came back and stood a pace in front of her. She gave him an encouraging smile. With his eyes fixed on hers he reached out to the buttons on her blouse.

His fingers fumbled so he had to look down to see what he was doing. This did not help because now his fingers were trembling so much that the buttons still would not come undone. Resisting the temptation to do it for him, Claire instead put one hand on either side of his face and kissed him deeply. That did the trick. As soon as the last button was undone, she reached back, pulled the blouse out of her skirt and shrugged it off to fall to the floor behind her. His hands moved down to her belt and this caused him no trouble but when it was undone, he stepped back expecting her skirt to fall free. When it did not, Claire quickly undid the zip on her hip and let the skirt drop.

Trevor raised his hands and started moving them towards her breasts but then stopped. Guessing that he was uncertain how to remove her bra, she quickly turned her back and presented the catch for his attention. When he succeeded in releasing it at the second attempt, Claire faced him again and allowed the garment, dangling from its straps, to slide down her arms into his hands. Then, as he turned to place it carefully on a chair, she quickly divested herself of her panties to stand before him unashamedly naked. She allowed him to gaze upon her for a long moment then turned and slid her body between the sheets of his bed.

Some hours later, Claire was lying in Trevor's arms, head on his chest and her arms wrapped round him. "Three times," he said proudly. "It must fifteen - no twenty years since I last managed it three times in one day. You have turned me into a young man again."

Claire gave him an answering squeeze. She no longer felt empty. More than that she felt utterly content. It was a sensation that she could not ever remember enjoying before - the glow and awareness of utter peace, both mental and physical. This was the element that had been missing from her marriage - all of it, not just the last nine months. The actual sex had been fine without being spectacular. There were no fireworks, no mind blowing explosions inside her but despite that it had been even more satisfying. With Trevor it had not been not just sex for sex sake, he had made into an almost reverential act of worship culminating in the ultimate closeness.

"Will you marry me?"

The question broke into her very pleasant reverie leaving Claire with a sense of shock. Collecting her senses she said, "But Trevor - you hardly know me."

"I have never done anything like this before. I want to do the honourable thing."

"There is no need. You enjoyed it and I enjoyed it but there is no need for a lifelong commitment."

"But I want there to be. I want to marry you."

"I happen to have a husband already."

"Divorce him."

"I am not sure if I want to and anyway I don't think that I can - he would have to divorce me and that could take forever."

"You could come and live with me until the divorce is through."

Claire put her hands on either side of his face and said tenderly, "Love, I am very flattered by your offer but I feel that you are pushing me in a direction that I don't know that I want to go."