'Oh Christ, Mr Gregg!'
'I think you can call me Tony. Well, well. Miss Lynnie Speedwell.'
He took her elbow, ushering her out of the shop to the opening of an adjoining alleyway full of rubbish bins.
'It's Mrs Ross now,' muttered Mrs Ross, flooded with horror as full realisation of the circumstances dawned.
'Mr Ross is a lucky man, then, to have such an open-minded wife.' Mr Gregg raised an eyebrow in the direction of Desirez.
'Oh, I wasn't going in,' rushed Mrs Ross. 'I was just . . . short of breath, so I leaned against the door . . . I was going to Waitrose.'
Mr Gregg laughed out loud. 'Waitrose, eh? I can see how you'd mix the two up.'
'Don't tease,' snapped Mrs Ross, noticing at the same time how well Gregg had aged. Silver hair had been the right look for him, just as she used to think. He must be nearing sixty now, but he had kept the weight off and his blue eyes had attractive crinkles at the sides.
'Not teasing!' he said, holding up his hands. 'Lynnie, seeing you is bringing back all kinds of memories. Fancy a drink, for old time's sake?'
'I'm a married woman!'
'I know. I'm not a married man any more though, and I think I owe you at least an apology for the disgraceful way I behaved back then. Come on. Let me buy you a drink. There's a nice place near here, if you can believe it.'
Mrs Ross crumpled. She had to admit, she felt the need of a strong gin and tonic, and after another two, things began to get interesting.
They had covered the intervening twenty years, their children, their jobs, their hobbies, their tastes. The one thing they hadn't covered . . .
'So what were you doing in that shop then?' asked Mrs Ross, making a playful swipe for the brown paper bag on the table. After swaying back from the Ladies', she had sat herself down beside Mr Gregg instead of opposite, and the warmth and closeness of him were adding to her fuzzy intoxication.
Mr Gregg snatched the bag away. 'Not for a lady's eyes,' he said gallantly.
'What if I'm not a lady?'
'Mrs Ross! Are you telling me that you really did mean to go into that shop? I'm intrigued. Tell me more.'
'Only if you show me what you bought.'
'You'll think badly of me.'
'Can't be worse than what I thought of you for twenty years. You cheating louse.'
'Lynnie!' he remonstrated. 'All right. I'll show you. But it's our secret, all right?'
'Guide's honour,' she said with a clumsy salute.
'It's just a magazine,' said Gregg, sliding it halfway out of the bag. 'For a specialist taste.'
'Oh? Just a porn mag?' Mrs Ross was disappointed, until she saw what came out. A pair of huge pale arse cheeks, held apart by red-nailed hands while the puzzled-looking blonde they belonged to pouted over her shoulder at the camera. The magazine was entitled Backdoor Love Affair.
She looked at Mr Gregg, then back at the magazine, then back at Mr Gregg.
'You . . . ?'
'I think you always knew I was an arse man,' said Gregg with an embarrassed smile, slipping the magazine back into its hiding place.
'Yes. Yes, I remember,' said Mrs Ross huskily. 'And I remember what you said then . . . ''lots of women like it'' . . . is that true?'
'You mean you still haven't tried it? After seventeen years of marriage?'
'No. I must admit, I've been curious. Very curious. But Colin just doesn't seem to want to . . .'