Page 142 of Wife After Wife

“I’ll just google your age if you don’t tell,” she said.

“Cursed internet. Forty-five, then.”

“Oh, that’s notoldold. In fact, that’s absolutely the best age for a man, I reckon. Look at George Clooney. He gets better looking every year. And you’re even more handsome than him.”

“I won’t deny it. Matinee idol is such a dated look.”

She giggled delightfully. He poured them more wine.

They finished their meal and walked out into the warm Soho night. The streets were full of people who’d gone for a quick drink after work and then forgotten to go home. It was one of those seductive midsummer evenings that did that to you.

“Can we do this again?” he said, putting a hand on her waist to guide her through the throngs.

“Tomorrow?” she said.

He laughed. “Not soon enough.”

“Want to come back for a nightcap?”

He was fairly sure she didn’t mean only a whisky. “I’d love to, sweetheart, but I have to catch the train to Richmond.”

She pulled him by the arm into a doorway. “I thought you said you had a live-in nanny? You gotta live in the moment, Harry. Carpe diem.”

“Caitlyn?” He moved in closer, ran his fingers down her arm.

“Yes, Harry,” she breathed. She hooked the fingers of one hand between his shirt buttons and pulled him further toward her. He felt her nails on his skin.

“Your necklace.”

“What about it?”

“The thing on the end of it...”

“It’s a topaz.”

“It’s a stuck topaz.”

“Is it?” She went to pull it out of her cleavage, but he grabbed her hand. “No. Let me.”

He trailed his fingers slowly down her chest, pressing lightly on the swell of her breasts before sliding them into the cleavage, where they stroked her skin for a moment before plucking out the jewel.

“Jeez, Harry. That was... You gotta come home with me, you can’t leave me like this.”

“Like what?” he said, his voice low, his hand sliding behind her waist. Their bodies met, then their lips.

Harry felt his body come back to life, but after a few seconds gently took her shoulders and pushed her away. “Not here—one never knows when the paparazzi might be lurking. Don’t want to be hoist with my own petard.”

“Your own what?”

“I should go home, Caitlyn. Yes, I do have a live-in nanny, but I also have two children who expect me to spread Marmite on their toast in the morning.”

He registered a fleeting expression on her face; part hurt and part... longing?

Then it was gone, replaced by a cheeky smile.

“OK, Dad. I’ll let you off this time.”

CHAPTER 44