"...Gosh, have I really been chewing your ear off for two hours? And I haven't even asked you yet how you've been getting on in America! What's it like living the California dream then?"

Petra hadn't changed in the six years since the two women had last met. They had picked up almost where they had left off the moment they had sat down to lunch in the exquisite restaurant-cum-chocolatier, supremely suited to ladies-who-lunch: minute portions of fabulous food at unbelievably high prices. No man, however loaded or gourmet-inclined, would have enjoyed a meal there.

Petra had been filling Uma in; but not much had changed: she was still systematically working her way round every eligible bachelor in London - and she was still completely self-obsessed. Uma remembered too late that Petra had always annoyed her intensely. That was something else that hadn't changed. It gave her a reassuring sense of belonging and the familiar.  This was how life had been in London. In the old days. Reassuringly shallow and light hearted, everyone behaving badly and no one really giving a damn.

There was another advantage of lunch with Petra that Uma also recognised. Petra's interminable self-obsession prevented Uma from having to share any information about her own life. Six years away and, when it came down to it, she had absolutely no desire to spill any beans. Most of it she simply wanted to forget. Well, everything apart from the bit where Maximilian Skinner had walked in, scooped her up and taken her away from it all.

"It's pretty good," Uma answered vaguely.

"...And what about this mysterious husband of yours? Charlotte said he's dreamy looking..."

"We're divorced," Uma replied brusquely.

"Good God, already? What went wrong?"

"Everything. Don't ask."

Petra shrugged. The end of Uma's five-year marriage was hardly cause for excitement. Most of the people she knew barely made it past six months. "You with anyone else then? That why he dumped you? I'll bet you've been a naughty girl with some gorgeous Hollywood hunk..." Petra was eager for some real dirt. An adulterous and possibly newsworthy scandal was always more juicy than a happy marriage.

Uma shrugged nonchalantly. "S'matter of fact I am. Not an actor, of course. Hardly. I live in The Big Sur..." 

"California, that's California, isn't it?"

"It's a big place. Miles away from LA. Near to San Francisco."

"Aren't they round the corner from each other? LA and San Francisco? Like Manchester and Liverpool with weather and class?" Petra asked without any sense of embarrassment that she was so crassly ignorant about anything outside of the Square Mile.

"No. They're very far apart actually. Rather more than Lands' End to John O'Groats..." Uma observed.

"Where..?" Petra chipped in absently as she tapped out a reply to an incoming SMS. She was already losing interest. " ...That was Felix...he's a darling. Property...well his Daddy is. Taking me to Venice for the festival, the dear... What were we saying? Oh yes..you and the new chappie...?" Dumb she might be but she did not leave a bone with a dog when she smelt a bit of gossip." Anyone I know?"

"Doubt it."

"Probably not, if he's American..."

"No. He's not. American, I mean. He's English. From London, actually, although he dropped out of the rat race a few years ago...Used to run the trading floor at..." Uma mentioned Skinner's former employers. Petra looked impressed and raised a carefully shaped eyebrow.

"Really? I used to date a guy from there. An absolute shit but amazing in bed....haven't seen old Maxie for years, come to think of it...now, there was a man amongst men...as long as you didn't believe a single word he said..." Petra added, gigging wickedly.

Uma smiled wryly, metaphorically rolling her eyes. Well, wouldn't you know? Maxie had dallied with Petra at some point.

Not that it surprised her on either count. She had no doubts that Max had been around the block and then some, regularly celebrating his position as 'one of the ballsiest traders in London' with one of the many 'it' girls around town. Women always went for his sort of bastard.  And, as Petra had been shagging round the City as an Olympic sport for as long as Uma had known her, it stood to reason the two of them would have met up at some point.

As if on cue, the excellent shag in question, Maximilian Skinner, hoved into view, dressed casually, toting a couple of designer shopping bags in one hand and the other shoved jauntily into his left trouser pocket.

"Bloody hell, I don't believe it! There's the big shit now! Speak of the devil!"  Petra leapt from her seat and waved over in exaggerated fashion: "Maximilian Skinner, you dog, you!!! Long time, no see...!"

You would have to give it to Max Skinner. He never skipped a beat. With a smug smile, he beamed across the intervening space, took his hand out of his pocket, giving Petra a cheesy wave. Then he sauntered over. "How perfectly lovely that you two know each other...Petunia, isn't it? What have you been up to, you naughty girl?  You look amazing, by the way, but then you always do..." He kissed Uma softly on the cheek. "Uma, missed you, love... Good lunch?"

"Good God! Max! You and Uma? Really! I would never have put you two together! That's totally insane! And it's Petra, as you well know, you smarmy bastard..."

"Let me pick up the bill, ladies?" Max called for the waiter, tendering his platinum card. Petra preened; she was never one to pass on a free lunch.

"Known each other long?" Petra asked while he was paying, her eyes gleaming with the saccharine deceit of an alligator.

"Not long," Max smiled, with the seasoned cheek of a market trader who can neither be fooled nor put off his game. "But long enough... Well, it's been absolutely lovely catching up again - but you know how it is. We really must be off. Toodle-oo, Pets. Love the hair colour by the way. Inspired..." With that Maximilian hauled Uma deftly out of her chair, and picked up his bags whilst tapping out his card number for the waiter, stuffing a healthy tip in his hand, and steering his girlfriend towards the door.

"Max! But I haven't said goodbye yet...!"

"Call her...When we get back to California... Bloody hell, I turn my back for five minutes and you're having luncheon with the she-devil herself...?"

He hit the door with his hand, ushered Uma out and then hailed a cab, pushing her inside with little ceremony. 

"Petra's not the she-devil! She's really rather sweet..."

"Sweet? Petra Montague? You ever dated her, darling? Jesus, talk of vagina dentata...!"

Uma shook her head. "I'll bet you gave as good as you got..."

"Of course I did. I always try to please," he retorted, gnashing his teeth suggestively, not in the least concerned at her unfavourable implication.

"It's not like I care that you've slept with hundreds of women..." Uma protested.

"Oh yes, you do. Five minutes longer and you would both have been comparing anecdotal evidence on my performance. I know how you girls work..."

"I would not! I would never talk about a guy I'm with to another woman..."

"So, you've never discussed with Ann any of the gory details of your intimate moments with the swarthy leprechaun?"

Uma pouted.

"I'll take that as a yes then..." he retorted with a sniff, settling back against the leather upholstery with the unctuous air of a man who is always right.

"Well, I've never told her about you and your little preferences..." she teased, snuggling up.

Max put his arms around her. "...And that, my dear, is how it is going to remain..."

Uma laughed and began poking around in his shopping bags. "Anything for me?"

He slapped her hands away. "No. This is all mine, sweetie. I had to pick up my wedding togs. The usual morning suit... God, remind me not to dress like a penguin at our wedding...Tomorrow is all for you, babes. I'll take you on a shopping expedition. I want you looking sensational on Saturday..."

His casual reference to marriage caught Uma's attention although she tamped down the desire to respond. At the moment, Max was still enjoying an extended victory lap after his moment of triumph in court. He seemed carried away with the idea of getting married and riding off into the sunset. She had no wish to dampen his ardour, especially after all he had done for her. She loved him. She loved him truly, madly, deeply.

But nor did she have any desire ever to wear any man's ring again. Slumping against the cab window, Uma stared out at the London streets as they passed by. She had no idea how to tell him that salient fact. He would never understand. It had taken Max Skinner a very long time to get to the point when he was ready to try wedded bliss again after his first abortive attempt with The Honourable Christabel Willis. Uma doubted he would be sympathetic to her cold feet. Underneath his arrogance and bluster, there was a rather sensitive little orphan boy  Maxie who had always suspected he was unlovable, rather as though his parents had not in fact driven off the road after a few cocktails too many one night but had purposely taken the leap to get away from their son.

Subsequently Uma suspected Max had indeed made himself about as hard to love as a man could possibly make himself, and yet...there was something about him that was irresistible. Many women had probably realised that. On all of them he had soundly turned his back. All except two. One had gone on to break his heart and she herself was the second... Max would read something entirely different into her words if she said, "Let's wait...."

They were staying in a perfectly appointed modern apartment upriver from where Max used to live, in a new development with an even more impressive view over the Thames. The apartment was one of those on Charlie's books; he had arranged a good price for them on this one month rental deal.

Uma adored it. The place took her breath away every time she stepped through the door to face the view of the Houses of Parliament it afforded. This was a London that she had once longed to be a part of, when still a young woman with her nose at the window of privilege, looking in. If you could buy or rent places like this, you had seriously arrived. And here she was now, as if almost by accident, stepping across that same invisible threshold, with a man who not only had it all, including London at his feet should he wish it, but who actually adored her into the bargain (those two things, she had found in her past, hardly ever coincided). Suddenly all the reasons that had driven her to leave this town seemed to evaporate. There was no place else she would rather be but here in one of the world's greatest cities, with that elusive 'it' all spread out before her.

She dashed immediately over to the window, as ever slipping out onto the balcony, and resting her chin on her folded arms, just taking it all in. California, Cullen, Ben Wade - the whole lot of them - seemed a very long way from here, in another world. It was another world. Maybe the Big Sur no longer even existed in this reality, and Max had somehow whisked her back into his film forever.

She suddenly rather hoped he had.

"Happy?" Max joined her, his arms reaching round her waist as he nestled in behind her.

"Delirious," she whispered.

"I have a little surprise for you..." he murmured into her ear, before kissing her softly. 

Uma pulled away. "Surprise? What do you mean, surprise? I thought you'd been shopping for yourself, today..." She smiled, knowing something was coming. It was typical of Max. He was always turning up with gifts or unexpected treats. He might not always be the most charming of men, but he knew how to give a girl a good time. Many of the things he brought for her were not wildly expensive but little sentimental trinkets. He was constantly surprising her.

"Ah well, I didn't buy this today, you see...well, not exactly. In fact, I haven't actually bought it yet to be perfectly honest...because I wanted to ask your opinion first. From now on, we do things together..." he added virtuously.

"What are you on about?" She was really curious now. He took her hand and then dropped it, pulling his tie off and holding it up. "Blindfold, first..."

Uma gave him a dubious stare but turned around all the same, allowing him to cover her eyes and secure tightly. Then he picked up her hand again and led her slowly through the apartment out onto the corridor and into the elevator. "Max...?" she asked tentatively.

"Trust me...'" he whispered. The elevator doors opened and she felt herself led down another corridor. Max let go of her hand to open a door; she was beginning to work out what was coming next.

They entered. 

She knew it was an empty apartment even without seeing it; their feet rang on the bare floorboards and echoed through the large open spaces uncluttered by furniture, carpets, wall hangings or objets d'art. There was a smell of newness clinging to the place: fresh paint, cleaning fluids, a distant hint of plaster and the clinical fragrance of brand new appliances.

He twirled her round - and then removed the blindfold.

Uma found herself in another apartment similar to the one below where they were staying, but higher up. It had an even better view. She quickly assessed that this flat was larger, the balcony wrapping around and opening up to create a large garden space, perfect for entertaining on balmy summer nights. She ran about; there were three bedrooms, a study, a gym and a magnificent state-of-the-art kitchen. The apartment they were currently in was just a two-bedroom bachelor pad. This had the makings of a home.

"Max, it's absolutely amazing! Are you saying you've bought this?" She flung her arms around him; he caught her and swung her round.

"Made an offer, it's pending but the owners know they either sell low or sit on this white elephant for the next few years.  The market's plunging. Christ, if I sold my old place now I would be buggered. No one's got the spare cash in the current situation. Perfect time to buy, though. Snap up when they're all desperately insolvent and need to liquidate, sit back and watch it double in a couple of years..."

"Max...I thought this was about us?" Uma asked him, wondering if she'd got the wrong idea. Maybe his surprise had just been a business proposition. He was incapable of going anywhere without seeing some way of turning his trip into a profit-making opportunity. He would probably buy this, rent it out and keep it as an addition to his 'fuck-you' fund.

At least he was asking her permission before he bought this time. There was something rather sweet about that, she had to admit. It was entirely un-Max Skinner sort of behaviour, especially as she had the financial acumen of a rather retarded flea.

"It is about us, silly! But, there's nothing to say we can't be sensible and make money at the same time, is there? This is for you, Uma. Well, us. For Max and Uma. Uma and Max. Our little love nest in London. We can make a couple of trips over a year. Cheaper than hotel suites, and earning us money even when vacant..."

"For us?"

"For you... to do what you like with. Apart from the kitchen, the bathrooms and the gym, it's totally naked. A virgin space for you to deflower with your own particular creative genius. Spend oodles. Let's get this place just as we want it. Classy, eclectic - but still home...London will always be home in a sense, even if we choose not to live here. Somehow it's in our blood..."

Uma reacted with a shriek, jumping on him in glorious abandon. "Oh Max! I love you! This must have cost a fortune!"

He shrugged. "You should have seen the price eighteen months ago. Couldn't believe it when Charlie told me what it was going for now. So I dropped it another 500, and they still jumped. Should have gone lower, maybe..."

"500? Pounds?"

He snorted. "Thousand. Five hundred thousand..."

"FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS? You got a discount of five hundred thousand pounds?That's almost a million dollars! You bargained it down by a million bucks? Then what the hell is the actual price?"

Skinner bent over and whispered a figure. Uma screamed again. He screwed up his face and put his fingers in his ears. "Could you take it down a few decibels? I do not wish to lose my hearing..."

"Max, this is just so...so...why did you do it?" 

He smiled and held her to him. "Because I love you. Because we need to have a place of our own. Because you deserve everything...and I plan to give it to you..."

He kissed her again. It all seemed like a dream. The nightmarish days of the divorce hearing, the shame of her private secrets being revealed in an open courtroom, the knowledge that she had let down her friends, lied to people she loved, probably lost the best friend she had ever had, not to mention the heartache of the years with Cullen and all that had cost her...Suddenly that was all past, as though in another life. Max Skinner was setting out his stall in flamboyant fashion and offering her something she had never even imagined in her wildest dreams.

Love. A secured future. Happiness. A share in his life.

She held his face tenderly in her hands, adoring how his eyes softened when he looked at her, how he put his head to one side, smiled like a goon; how he openly bathed himself in her affection. "I love you, Maximilian Skinner. Not because you have money and can afford places like this - even though I have to say this is the most amazing place I have ever seen and I would adore living here - but simply because you make me so happy and love me so much. No one has ever done that before. No one has ever made me the most important thing in their lives. But you have. You are even ready to change everything in your life for me. That's real love. And even if this was a pokey little flat in Clapham Junction above a Chinese chippy, I would still adore it and want nothing more than to settle down there with you for ever and ever..."

"Well, I bloody wouldn't be there with you, sweetheart!  A smelly bedsit above a chippy? You have to be out of your tiny mind. Max Skinner does it in style... Now where's that bottle of champers? Charlie said he would leave one in the fridge..." Max strode through to the kitchen, located the bottle, popped the cork deftly with the practised ease of a man used to Mumm - and poured out two glasses. "So, I go ahead with the deal? Charlie will be delighted. He wants me back here so we can make cosy little foursomes for going about town and you can talk to his future wife, Maria-Elena.  How's your Portuguese? Oh, and he's pretty happy about his commission as well; it's been a lean season..the bastard won't drop that even for me, God love him..."

They toasted their future home as they strolled about hand-in-hand. "Max?"

"Hmmm...?" he replied absently as he played around with the computerised cappucino maker.

"Maybe we don't just visit a few times a year? Why not make this our base? I mean, why bother going back to California at all? We're both Brits. We should be in our own country, contributing to the economy and doing our bit..."

Max rolled his eyes. "May I remind you that I have a business in California...? To be exact, we have a business in California. And you have a merry band of brothers waiting for you, most of whom can't even blow their own noses without you, or so you used to claim..."

Uma frowned. "Paul can run The Phoenix for us, you know he can. All you have to do is drop in once or twice a year..."

"What about your friends? Can Paul do the honours for you there as well? " Max scrutinised her carefully as he asked his incisive question.

She looked away. "Friends? If I have any left, you mean. I bet they're all disgusted with me. All the women will side with Terry and think I broke his heart, not to mention lied about his baby..." she choked on the word 'baby.'  It was still a raw memory for her. Max swung round the counter to pull her into his arms.

"Ssshhh, no more tears! Don't be so melodramatic, Uma! You know they don't hate you. Okay, it would have been a shock at the time, and I am sure it was talked about round the clock for a while, but it will only have been a nine-day wonder. Thorne's a big boy, quite capable of breaking his own heart - as his recent dalliance with the Miss Karina Piranha so vividly demonstrated. By the time we get back, everyone will have forgotten all about it and just be glad to see you safe and sound. Most people are more interested in their own lives most of all, when it comes down to it..."

"...Ann won't have forgotten..." Uma reminded him.

"Is that what this is really about?" Max came over all fatherly, sitting her on his knee. Uma put on her baby face, milking his attention for all she was worth, just as he liked it. "You don't want to face Ann, is that it? If I was Ann, it would be the other way round, love. I'd be worrying about facing you and me. She was the one who colluded with Wade throughout to bring you down. I have absolutely no sympathy for her..."

"She won't see it like that. I lied about you. I pretended to her that I was seeing Maximus.  That was an out and out lie. And that's before we even get into the whole mess with Terry..."

"...Then let's not go there, eh? The least said about all that the better, frankly. You dug yourself into a hole and that is that. Friends make allowances. Just like you're going to have to make allowances for her colluding with your arch-nemesis, Ben Wade..."

"Arch-nemesis? What is this, a Batman movie? Now who's being melodramatic?" 

Max looked wary. "Don't underestimate that man, Uma. He's dangerous. And don't underestimate yourself either. You are a very beguiling woman..." He certainly seemed very beguiled himself with her at that self-same moment as he ran his hands up her T-shirt to unhook her bra.

Uma laughed and swatted him away. "Not here, Max! We can't baptise this place in our own inimitable way until we have at least signed the papers...what if Charlie waltzes in with some other clients? You know he'll have a few lined up in case you drop out..."

"Then we give them their money's worth..." Max sniggered into her neck but still thinking better of it. Uma was right. It was just the sort of thing Charlie would do, line up an alternative buyer behind his back as a safety net. The guy was incorrigible. It was one of his few attractive qualities.

Not to be thwarted entirely, Max scooped her up and ran for the door. "You are getting so boring, love...okay, back to the flat and I ravish you there instead...If you insist..."

Moments later, they clattered through the door to their rented apartment, already lip-locked and in a state of mutual deshabillés. Max thrust her forcefully against the door to close it; Uma dragged his open shirt from his shoulders. He ran his hand up her thigh and pulled her long legs round his hips; she unfastened his belt and helped him drop his trousers...

"...Perhaps I should clear my throat before you both really embarrass yourselves?" A husky female voice from somewhere in the room froze them in their tracks. Uma spun round, her mouth dropping open as she stared in horror. Max took only a second to assess the situation and his own tented shorts. He grabbed his girlfriend and lifted her bodily, using her to hide his own arousal, and at least attempt to maintain some dignity.

Uma finally found her voice. "MUM?"

Max stuttered. "Mum?"

'Mum' chuckled and said. "Well, who else, darling?"

"How the hell did you get in here?  Who the dickens told you I was back? How the blue blazes did you find me?"

"One at a time, Uma! And do give that nice husband of yours the chance to pull his pants up. Not that I am not fully enjoying the view...Gorgeous legs, darling! I haven't seen such a fine beefy specimen as you for a long while..."

"You keep your eyes to yourself, Mum! Max, put your pants on! Do not give her a free show. She's a bloody man-eater..." Uma barked, using her own hands to give him some extra cover.

"What a charming thing to say about your own mother! Really, darling! What will Cullen think of me...? I would have known you were Irish anywhere, dearie. Eire is one of the few places in the British Isles that make shoulders like that...."

"...Irish? Who's bloody Irish?" Max blurted out, as he zipped up with gusto. "I'm Anglo-Saxon through and through....Who's calling me a bloody Mick? If you are confusing me with that hairy little leprechaun she married, then you are very much mistaken, Mrs...Mrs...what should I call you anyway?...Mum somehow seems wholly inappropriate. "

"This is not Cullen, Mum! This is Max..."

"This is not your husband? No wonder you were devouring him with such abandon, you naughty girl! My, my, Uma...who's the man-eater now...? Max, is it? Pleased to meet you, Max. I'm Isolde de Verlain, Uma's mother..."

"Isolde de Verlain? Who the bloody hell is that, Mum? What happened to Irene Devlin?"

"I'm known as Isolde now, darling.  Do keep up! One must continually re-invent oneself as one passes through life...Selecting a name is the first symbol of initiation into a higher belief system..."

"...You a Buddhist again? I thought you dropped that when you married that Persian guy and became a Zoroastrian..."

"No, darling. Isolde is not Persian. It's an ancient British name...I'm now a follower of the Old Ways..."

"Your granddad was born in Dublin, Ma..."

"...Which makes me a Celt...A real Briton... So it is highly appropriate..."

"Mum, you are mental but then that's no surprise now, is it? I've known that for years. Max, this is my mother and she is mental. Call the nearest looney bin and have her committed..."

Max smiled, one of his unctuous crocodile smiles, blithely walked over to where 'Ms. De Verlain' was sitting, fastening up his shirt and tucking it in as he went. Extending a hand, he said: "How do you do! Maximilian Skinner. Not the husband. The lover. Enchanted to meet you at last, Mizz De Verlain. I see beauty runs in the female line? May I call you Isolde? And will Tristan be joining us for tea?" he added smugly.

Isolde giggled fetchingly at his witty repartee before jumping up and embracing him flamboyantly, kissing both cheeks and making silly cooing noises. "Of course you must call me Isolde, you charming boy! Skinner, did you say? You wouldn't be any relation to a certain Henry Skinner by any chance? I once spent a wonderful time with a Henry Skinner in the south of France...a thoroughly charming man!"

Uma went white. "Bloody hell! Don't tell me you shacked up with Henry Skinner in your lurid past?"

Max paled to an even white shade. "Before or after you had Uma? I mean...Henry couldn't have been...? Connected with Uma...in any paternal sort of way...?" A completely awful idea had just occurred to him. He was beginning to struggle with coherent speech.

Isolde giggled throatily. "Oh dear boy, don't be so paranoid! I was just a slip of a girl then! It was years before Uma was born! I spent a summer in France before I went up to Uni...so you are related to Henry, then? Don't tell me you're his son?"

"His nephew."

"I should have guessed. You look so like him...apart from the nose..."

Max looked skyward at their lucky escape. "Thank you, God...!"

"How did you find me?" Uma broke in. "How on earth did you know I was here?"

"Let's just say a little bird told me, shall we? Darlings, I hate to love and leave you but I've got to run. Any chance we can get together this weekend for dinner and a real chance to catch up?" Uma's mother was already gathering her coat and voluminous handbag.

"We're in the country this weekend. A wedding...Max is the best man..." Uma replied unhelpfully. She seemed in no real rush to get to know her mother again.

It occurred to Max that he ought to help build bridges here. Uma had lost enough of late. If her mother was reaching out, maybe he should do his best to support her. She might not have been a candidate for parent of the year, but she was still a mother. Family was still family.

"What about tomorrow night? You'll be on your own while I get Charlie rat-arsed, debagged and on the overnight express to Aberdeen..."

"Max! You cannot do that!" Uma gasped.

He frowned. "Okay, maybe not Aberdeen, but at least chained bollock-naked to the railings in Hyde Park? Tradition! What kind of best man would I be if I didn't give him a proper send off?"

Uma shook her head. "Men, particularly public school boys! You're all criminally insane. Okay Mum, I can meet you tomorrow night...."

"Covent Garden? Seven-thirty? The Mucky Duck?"

"Mum, do not be late! I am not sitting there all on my own again nursing a sad half..."

"Trust me, sweetie. I'll be there...and I'll have a surprise for you..."

Isolde gave an enigmatic smile and was off, after a quick kiss for her daughter and a surreptitious pat on his well-tailored rump for Max. He closed the door behind her and turned, giving Uma a meaningful grin.

"Well, well, well...the mother, hey?"

Uma rolled her eyes. "Don't even suggest that I will ever be remotely like that old nympho. It has been my life's work not to emulate her in any way, shape or form...What the hell did the randy old bag mean by a 'surprise'? If she's going to announce her engagement to yet another toy boy, I'll bloody kill her! I am not going to sit there all night while she plays tongue-hockey with some half-wit young enough to be too young for me..."

Max put his arm around her and steered her towards the bedroom. " Don't sweat it...We have unfinished business... Knickers off at the double...actually I thought she was rather lovely. You know they say if you're contemplating marriage you should look at the mother-in-law to give you some idea of what to expect in thirty years..."

"Christ, if I'm going to be an out of condition, blousy lush with the hair style of a fifteen year old and too-tight clothes, then kill me now..."

"...Actually, I saw a lady who clearly still has a healthy appetite for life...and a good eye for male flesh..."

"If I'm like her, by the time we get to her age, you'll be years too old for me...and I'll be chasing young meat..."

"No, you won't..." Max dropped his pants again as pushed her to the bed. "I have a secret weapon that not many men have...which will be just as big in thirty years' time...and you'll still be gagging on it..."

Uma giggled. "Yeah, and there's always Viagra, Mr. Big Talk..."

Later, much, much later, when the balmy summer evening was already beginning to melt into the purple hues of night, they still lay there in the sheets, naked and satiated, half-dozing. Max lifted up his head, checked the time and licked his lips, thirsty and hungry but too damn sex-happy to move. Uma wriggled lazily against his thigh.

"No chance," he growled. 

She chuckled back. "Good job an' all. My fanny's red raw..."

"Charming. Do you think you could be a little more euphemistic?"

"No, I can't. It hurts too much."

"Get used to it. Imagine what I'll demand on our wedding night when it's legal and I don't have to woo you for it anymore?

Uma winced and changed the subject. "I'm hungry...can we call take out?"

"Sure. Chinese? Indian? Thai?"

"Thai. I want some mango sticky rice. I need sugar."

"Good idea." He made the call while she idly surfed TV channels. As he put the phone down, he looked across at her. "You know something? Every time I mention the word 'marriage' in relation to you and me, you change the subject. Have you noticed?"

Uma sat up and threw back the covers. "I need a wee..."

He grabbed her arm. "No, you don't..."

"I'll wet the bed...!"

"No, you won't. What's the matter, Uma? Look, if you're trying to tell me something, tell me now, for Christ's sake...!"

Uma merely pulled on his holding hand and he relented, relaxing his grip and letting her go. She danced off, naked, her hands cupping her private parts and giggling about Niagara Falls. He shook his head and sighed. She really was the most frustrating woman...