'Well if you come round more often, you can practise,' laughed Jonas. 'So long as you remember that I am still the king!' he added, leaping in the air and landing on Matt's back.

'Oh yeah?' chuckled Matt, wrestling the boy to the ground. Gosh, he was getting big. Matt remembered the days when rough-and-tumble tussles like this had been a daily occurrence. He would lift Jonas in the air and Jonas would pretend he was Superman, squealing, 'Higher, Daddy, higher!' Now it was all Matt could do to wriggle out from beneath him.

'Come on. Bedtime, young man,' said Matthew, ushering Jonas out of the playroom and up the stairs towards his room, a shrine to cartoon character Ben 10. Matthew had agreed to babysit in a moment of weakness, but he was glad he had. Initially he had been nervous about it; partly because he'd never been inside what he still thought of as David's house, having always dropped Jonas off at the doorstep, but mainly because he wasn't sure if it was a good idea giving Jonas all these mixed messages. For three years, David had been playing Daddy to his son, and as much as he had hated it, Matthew had been forced to accept the status quo, watching Jonas grow from a distance. But just because David had gone, that didn't mean Matthew would be stepping straight back into his old role. Indeed, Carla was out at some fancy party tonight and could well come home with another subst.i.tute daddy for Jonas and there would be nothing either of them could do about it. Even so, he had loved spending quality time with Jonas in his own home, rather than at some cafe or playground. It was wonderful to see how he lived.

Matthew bent to tuck Jonas in and kiss him on the forehead, surprised but grateful when he didn't protest. His little boy's face was beginning to take shape; he had his mum's nose and mouth, but he had Matthew's eyes. Matthew liked that.

'I'm glad you've seen our house, Daddy,' said Jonas.

'I'm glad too,' said Matthew quietly.

Jonas's eyes widened in the dark. 'Maybe if David lets Mum keep the house, you could move in, 'cos it's loads bigger than your flat.'

'I like my flat,' he said, trying to laugh off the suggestion. 'But if your mum agrees, I'll be round to visit more often. I can't have you blasting me to death every time, can I? I've got to practise.'

'Good idea.'

His son looked at him more seriously.

'Are you and Mum friends again?' His face, that perfect combination of Matt's and Carla's features, looked hopeful.

'We've always been friends. How can we not be when we have such a brilliant thing in common as you?'

He hated lying to his son, but he knew there was some truth in his words. He and Carla had been getting on much better lately. More importantly, because of their son, there would always be a deep bond, a connection between them.

Jonas's eyes were starting to close.

'I love you, Dad,' he said drowsily.

'I love you too,' Matt replied, enjoying the simple, sweet moment of saying good night to his son in the place that he called home.

He closed his son's bedroom door softly and stood at the top of the stairs, listening to make sure Jonas was asleep. He peered up the stairwell to the second floor and beyond that, a third. This house is huge, he thought, padding towards the master bedroom and peering inside. I'm not being nosy, just interested. And for Jonas's safety, I need to know where the fire exits are, don't I?

He moved from room to room, past a library, a bathroom with his-and-her wash basins and a dressing room as big as his corner office at the firm. He wasn't surprised that there were no photos of David in any of the rooms he looked in; Carla could be ruthless like that. Once she had moved on, she moved on. But there were reminders of the ex-master of the house everywhere. The study with his captain's chair and golfing memorabilia, the weights machine and the muddy green wellingtons by the back door. Even though David had gone, Matthew still felt as if he was intruding in a stranger's home which he supposed he was.

He moved downstairs, to the bas.e.m.e.nt and the gym, the laundry and the media room. His son had been living the life of luxury, he thought with bittersweet emotions, looking at the rows of velour seats in front of the cinema screen.

He walked over to the popcorn machine and turned it on. It hummed to life. He watched mesmerised as the kernels bounced along the bottom of the steel base, then began to pop like machine-gun fire, the gla.s.s drum filling with pale golden bubbles of corn.

'Waste not, want not,' he mumbled to himself, scooping the popcorn into a stripy red carton, then went over to the racks of DVDs and looked for something to watch, running his fingertip along the thin spines. Most were cartoons or children's movies, with a few mainstream action films thrown in, certainly nothing Matthew hadn't already seen. To one side were a group of boxes with neatly handwritten t.i.tles: exotic place names or occasions that had no meaning to him. Christmas Barbados. Isabel's 40th, Cap Ferrat. The Hamptons Jake's House.

'Who's Jake?' he wondered aloud, cracking open the case and putting the disc in the machine. The huge screen immediately came to life, footage of a blue ocean and creamy white sand, a much smaller Jonas running away from the camera, then stopping and waving, before disappearing behind a palm tree. Then a jump-cut to a new scene: David walking along a wooden pier, his arm around Carla; she wearing a poppy-red dress, he wearing a straw hat. Tinny laughter, shaky footage, the sign of an amateur home video.

'I'm not sure you should be watching those.' Matthew turned, startled, sending popcorn all over the floor.

'b.u.g.g.e.r,' he muttered, grabbing the remote and punching the eject b.u.t.ton. 'I thought I'd watch a movie,' he said, trying to sc.r.a.pe up the spilled popcorn. 'Wondered what Hamptons Jake's House was. Don't get to the cinema much ...' He cursed himself for getting caught out like this, but in the low light he could see a smile curling at the edges of Carla's glossy lips.

'You're early,' he quipped guiltily.

'I was tired. Or bored. Maybe both. How was Jonas?'

'We had a great time. You should have stayed here. Tiring and yet never boring.'

'I won't hear the last of it tomorrow.'

He stood up, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in the media room.

'Excellent popcorn machine.'

'Amazing what money can buy you.'

'I'm sorry for being nosy,' he said finally.

'I'd have done the same.'

'I doubt it. I've got no media room. A thirty-two-inch telly and some Sly Stallone DVDs, that's all you'll find at my place.'

'Don't give me the sob story. You're senior partner of Donovan Pierce now, you can afford the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs.'

She unb.u.t.toned her coat and slipped it off, revealing a pale pink slip dress, silky, slim-cut and short, showing off her long, tanned legs to perfection. He tried hard not to stare too hard; then again, he defied any man to be able to tear their eyes away from Carla when she looked this good.

'So why was the party dull?'

'Everyone asking me about David, pulling faces like someone had died.'

She was drunk, he could hear it in her slightly slurred words and see it in her gla.s.sy eyes. He felt a pang of sympathy for his ex-wife. He knew how much she would have hated that: being pitied in some Knightsbridge society salon. She'd have knocked back the champagne to forget about it and then made her excuses as soon as it was polite to leave.

'Do you want me to make you a coffee?' he asked.

'That obvious, is it?' she said with a crooked grin. 'I'll do it, there's an espresso machine just over here.' She pressed the side of a cabinet and it popped open to reveal a bar. 'Open sesame,' she said. 'Just like magic.'

She perched on the back of one of the velour chairs beside him.

'Well I'm sure you won't be single for long,' said Matt, trying to make her feel better. He quite enjoyed having a pleasant conversation with his wife; being friends, as Jonas had rightly put it. It was a change from the years of bitter snipes and exchanges that invariably came when a marriage had gone sour.

'I think you're wrong,' she said matter-of-factly. 'Good men get snapped up so quickly. Women are ruthless. A whiff that a marriage is in trouble and they hover, console, move in before the divorce lawyers have been called in half the time.'

'I never had that.'

'Good,' she said softly.

Their eyes locked and he had to look away.

'I'm not sure how well I'd have taken it if you'd got married again,' she added as the coffee machine gurgled in the background.

Matt smiled to defuse the tension that was building in the confines of the dark room.

'Well, I'd like to think I'm not on love's sc.r.a.pheap quite yet.'

'So you're looking?' She turned to face him.

'I never said that.'

She gave a little laugh, shaking her head gently. 'Why am I jealous?'

The pace of his heart quickened. 'We were married. It's only natural.'

There was a long silence. Matt knew it was time to leave, but he couldn't tear himself away from his spot beside her. He could sense she had something to tell him, and curiosity, ego, his pride that had been so bruised when she had betrayed him made him want to hear it.

'I was wrong to leave you,' she whispered finally.

When the words came, he could think of nothing in response.

She lifted her hand and brushed the back of her fingers across his cheek. He reached up to stop them, but as his hand gripped hers, the cool softness of her skin made something in his stomach flutter.

'Don't,' he said, feeling the situation galloping out of control.

'Why not?'

She stood up and stepped towards him. In her high heels they were almost face to face. At this distance he could see the tiny vein beneath her eye trembling like it did when she was nervous. He could smell the light scent of expensive wine and lipstick inhabiting the air s.p.a.ce between them. Her mouth was inches away from his, her lips parted, waiting.

He couldn't think of a single reason why he shouldn't kiss her. Then again, logic always did fly out of the window when he was faced by the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

His hand cupped the soft, silky curve of her waist, slowly, carefully, pulling her towards him, and he kissed her on the mouth, on the soft fold of her ear lobe, on her long, smooth neck. He had forgotten how sweet she tasted; and yet the smell and taste of her were so familiar, it was as if the three years since any physical contact had contracted into nothingness.

'I've missed you,' she whispered, responding to his touch.

His hand brushed the thin spaghetti straps of her dress off her shoulders, one and then the other, so that the flimsy fabric slid down over her slim body and rustled to the floor.

She was naked except for her thong and heels. He stole a glance, wondering if she had ever looked so forbidden and exotic, then held her waist as she arched her back, teasing each ripened nipple between his lips as she gasped in pleasure.

His own arousal was unbearable. With his free hand he unbuckled his belt and slid down the zip of his trousers. Carla drew herself up, her lean, Pilates-honed torso as strong and elegant as a ballet dancer's.

'Jonas,' he muttered as her fingers unfastened his shirt b.u.t.tons. 'He'll hear us.'

'Media room. Soundproofed,' she said, raking her fingernails across his chest.

Their kisses were more urgent now. They stumbled back on to a two-seater sofa at the back of the room, the soles of her shoes crunching stray b.a.l.l.s of popcorn underfoot. Matt kicked off his trousers and boxer shorts.

Carla lay back, propped up by some expensive-looking cushions, and parted her thighs, and he slotted his body between them, a perfect fit, as if they were made for each other. Her fingers pushed the wisp of thong to one side, and he guided himself inside her, slowly at first, but as she hooked one leg around him, he pushed deeper, groaning as they moved as one, in, out, together together.

Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, he couldn't remember married s.e.x ever being this good. Nor could he reconcile the brittle, frosty ex-wife with this hot, responsive woman. When she came, he felt her whole body tremble. Then he felt it too, white-hot electric desire pushing him closer and closer to the edge, and then a sweet release deep inside her.

They lay motionless for a few moments, listening to the sound of their breathing slowing, regulating, and then he pulled himself out of her.

'Not bad for a pair of thirty-something parents,' he smiled, collapsing back on to the opposite end of the sofa.

'I need another drink,' she said, laughing.

He said nothing.

The silence vibrated between them, and then she touched her fingers against his, as if willing him to say something.

'I should go,' he said quietly, putting his palm over the top of her hand.

She slid it out, her body pulling away from him.

'I didn't think that was your style,' she sniffed.

He felt a stab of guilt for all the other one-night stands he'd had over the last three years. The post-coital excuses he had made to other women he knew he could not commit to. But this was different.

'What do you suggest, Carla?' he said quietly. 'That I stay the night? That Jonas wakes up in the morning and sees us there, together in bed, as if the last three years hasn't even happened?'

'I'd prefer that to you getting up and walking out of the door the second after you've come inside me.'

He inhaled sharply, then looked at her.

'I'm sorry. I just didn't expect this.'

Her face softened.

'Me neither.' She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on top of them.

His son's words reverberated around Matt's head: Are you and Mum friends again? Are you and Mum friends again? He owed her more than this. He owed her more than this.

'Maybe we should go out for dinner,' he said without thinking.

'We go to Ibiza tomorrow. But we could do something when we get back. The time, the s.p.a.ce might do us good. Give us time to think.'

She tipped her head to one side, her blond hair cascading over her bare shoulder, and smiled so adorably that he felt himself start to get hard again.

He nodded his approval.

'You don't regret what we just did?' she said softly.

'That was the best s.e.x since ... since you,' he said truthfully. In fact it had been incredible, and that was what scared him.

42

'Darling, I could have told you he was a c.o.ke fiend. You didn't have to send me to St Tropez with a camcorder down my knickers to find that out.'

Sheryl Battenburg rested her chin in the curve of her palm and smiled at Larry. He was fairly sure that if they hadn't been in the rarefied environs of the Beaumont Bar at the Savoy, she would have come over and sat on his knee.

'Well, pictures were what I needed, Sherry, not rumours.' He smiled as the waitress brought his old friend a flute of Krug. It was one of the few places in London that did it by the gla.s.s; he didn't want to waste a bottle when he wasn't even drinking it.