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He never dreamed he would end up with a woman so understanding – most of the time – as Gloria, especially when it came to the exigencies of the job. As long as she could have her obligatory two weeks holiday abroad every year and was left to spend their money as much as she wanted, she was content to let him poddle along as much as he wanted. Not everything was perfect, of course. Whatever was? Gloria was not one for adventure where lovemaking was involved and had even been known to fall asleep while he was still performing, but he considered that unfortunate incident was down to a little too much Lambrusco.
    How could one man be so lucky, he wondered. Good income, solid family life – even if Gloria would not entertain having children (in case it spoiled her figure). And now Olivia. Olivia. For weeks now she’d reinstilled the spark to his very existence. She introduced him to pleasures above and beyond anything he had ever aspired to, or indeed, imagined possible. She made his blood race, his head spin, his heart beat fast. She was perfect and he was due to see her again that afternoon. He floated through the day. Everyone was pleasant to him and he smiled a lot more than usual. Two such superb women. Each complemented the other and they were both his.
    He drove to Olivia’s place. Once again, she loved him with her mouth; he pleasured her. They came together, making love again. She produced a bottle of Moselle, carefully chilled. Raised the glass to her soft lips. Kissed him. Shared the wine, mouth to mouth. Once again, he was giddy with sensation. They lay there.
    “Lester…”
    “God, I love you.”
    “No, Lester…”
    “I really do.”
    “No, yes, I know, but listen.”
    “What?”
    “I’ve been thinking.”
    “Steady, now.”
    “Don’t take the piss. I’ve got an idea. You reckon you make good money?”
    He frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
    “I make good money too.”
    He propped himself up on an elbow and looked at her. “Exactly what is it that you do?”
    “You know.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled knowingly.
    “No I don’t. What do you do?”
    “You really don’t know?”
    “I just said.”
    “Guess.”
    “I don’t know… you’re a solicitor.”
    She shrieked with laughter. “Never had to do that, really.”
    “You were a solicitor.”
    “Nope.”
    He hated games, especially guessing games when he did not have the upper hand.
    “Hell, a secretary, a PA. I don’t know.” He thought about the way the flat was furnished, the manner in which she dressed. “You’re a lady of leisure with wealthy parents who provide for your every need. Oh, no.” He stopped abruptly.
    “What?”
    “Provided for. You’ve got a rich husband. A rich husband that’s about to come home any minute. No, I’ve got it, a rich husband that you want to bump off and run away with the proceeds.”
    “No, nothing like that.” She waved her left hand in front of his face. “Wrong finger, silly.”
    “Well what? What’s this all about?”
    “Listen. If I told you that I’ve an idea that could make us both a lot of money, would you be interested?”
    He frowned. The disparate streams of his consciousness started to unravel. Which to follow, what should he attempt to control. He had come here to make love, not money. He was in the love groove, not commercial mode. How do women do that? They could seem totally engrossed with one thing, but at the same time be focussed on another plane as well.
    “I don’t know. Policemen aren’t supposed to have business interests. I suppose it would depend on what you had in mind.”
    “It’s based on what I do. For a living.”
    He sighed. “I don’t know what you do, therefore I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
    “I entertain gentlemen.”
    “You certainly entertain me.”
    He looked at her again, with sudden, stupidly horrified realisation. His streams of consciousness wobbled, divided, then sub-divided into