‘I’m warning you now,’ Amber shakes a finger at Daniel. ‘This is not a date, and you are not allowed to flirt with me.’

‘But I have to flirt with you.’ Daniel grins as he shakes the blanket out on the grass underneath a large old maple tree. ‘It’s my job.’

‘Well try and think of this as less work, more…’

‘…play?’ he finishes off for her with another grin.

‘No, that’s not what I meant at all,’ Amber says, unable to keep the smile from her face. Of course she’s not interested. Of course she’s not going to do anything about it, but when was the last time someone actually dared to flirt with her? When was the last time, for that matter, she had been on her own with a man other than her husband for an entire evening?

It’s not that I miss being single, she muses, as she helps Daniel open the containers and set them out on the blanket, it’s that I miss excitement. How lovely to do something different, to have some attention paid to you, to really feel like a woman again.

Because that is precisely how Amber hasn’t been feeling. Does she feel like a wife? Of course. And a mother? Without a doubt. But a woman? Very rarely these days. Rarely does she feel seductive, feminine, sensual. Rarely is she aware of her own, once powerful, sexuality.

As a mother she has become de-sexualized, she realizes with a shock. All the passion that she once poured onto her husband, she now pours into her children, leaving her with the comfortable feeling of an old pair of slippers: she adores Richard, feels safe and cosy and warm with him, and would never question the validity of their marriage, but she has quite forgotten the heady feeling of being made to feel sexy, of having someone so clearly lust after you.

And Daniel? What had Vicky said in her notes about Daniel? Her neighbourhood ‘shag’ – Amber remembers that unfamiliar word with a smile. But of course she would start thinking about sex when with him, if only because she knows that is his role in Vicky’s life.

How convenient, she thinks. But how difficult to just leave it be at that. How is it possible to sleep with someone on a regular basis, someone who is a friend, and not have it turn into something more, not become emotionally involved?

Daniel sits down opposite her and pours the wine into a plastic cup, handing it to her with a rueful smile.

‘Cheers,’ he says. ‘Sorry about the cups. The crystal was in the diswasher.’

‘Now I know you’re lying,’ Amber shoots back. ‘Crystal never ever goes into a dishwasher. But cheers. To… what? To life-swapping!’ she says finally.

‘Wife-swapping, did you say?’ Daniel says deliberately. ‘I’ll drink to that. Hear, hear. To wife-swapping. And all who indulge in it.’

Amber shakes her head. ‘Are you this incorrigible all the time? And if so, how does Vicky put up with you?’

‘The answer to your question is no, I’m not this incorrigible all the time, only when I’m around feisty Americans with great legs,’ he eyes her legs approvingly, ‘and the reason Vix is able to put up with me is because we’re friends first, and I would say lovers second, although since Jamie Donnelly came into the equation she won’t shag me any more anyway.’

‘And are you upset about that?’

‘Upset? That she’s been refusing me or that she’s with Donnelly?’

Amber shrugs. ‘Either? Both?’

‘Well obviously I’m slightly disappointed when I feel like, well, you know, and she fobs me off with some chit-chat and a chaste goodnight kiss, but I think you’re asking me if I’m jealous, and the answer to that is a definite no.’

‘Okay. So now I have to ask you something. Would you and Vicky ever be more than friends?’

‘Nope,’ Daniel says, without even having to think about it.

‘But how can you be so sure? If you’re friends and you like each other and you get on and you sleep together, how could you not have a relationship together?’ Amber’s confusion is obvious. ‘I mean, what else is there?’

‘What else? Chemistry of course.’

‘But you must have chemistry, otherwise why would you be sleeping together on an ongoing basis?’

‘Well yes, we do have chemistry in bed, I suppose,’ Daniel says, ‘but whatever else is supposed to be there, passion, being in love, that certain je ne sais quoi, is missing, and without that what would be the point?’

Amber laughs as Daniel refills her glass; he is thrilled at how quickly she downed that first glass, loving nothing more than a tipsy redhead on a hot summer’s night.

‘You’re laughing – why?’ he queries.

‘Because you’re so naive!’ she says. ‘That je ne sais quoi isn’t real. It isn’t what real relationships are based on. Real relationships are based on being best friends, on honesty, and laughter, and conversation, and integrity, not the je ne sais quoi that lasts all of five minutes once you’re married and have children.’

‘You sound like you’ve been sent here to try and talk me into something,’ Daniel narrows his eyes at her suspiciously.

‘Hand on my heart I haven’t,’ Amber swears seriously. ‘It’s just that I’m always hearing single people talk about this passion and lust, and I think that that shouldn’t be the foundation for a relationship. What you have with Vicky is friendship and a great sex life, and frankly I’m not sure it gets any better than that.’

‘So are you telling me you don’t have any passion with your husband?’ This is getting better and better, thinks Daniel.

‘No, I didn’t say that.’ Amber is slightly flustered by such a direct question from such a relative stranger. ‘I do, but it’s a different kind of passion. It’s one that comes from being together for years, from raising children together, from liking doing the same things, from a deep understanding of what makes another person tick.’ And as she says these things Amber thinks about Richard, pictures him waking up next to her in the morning, his hair mussed up, his eyes bleary with sleep, and thinks about how, still, after all these years, he will reach out to her and spoon behind her for a few minutes every morning, nuzzling into her hair as she falls back to sleep, whispering, ‘I love you,’ just before he gets out of bed and goes to have a shower.

She thinks of Richard with the children. What a wonderful father he is. How she is filled with a sense of pride when she watches him gently pick Gracie up and carry her on his hip, turning to give her an ‘eskimo kiss’, his large nose and Gracie’s tiny one rubbing together as Gracie giggles.

She thinks of him walking past her as she’s getting dressed, examining herself in the mirror dressed in a T-shirt and underpants, how he will stop and give her a squeeze, a kiss, a gentle rub on her back, how he is always showing her how much he loves her.

And Amber? Does she reciprocate these gestures? In the beginning she didn’t, unused to such a demonstrative man, used instead to men who would refuse to acknowledge a relationship by anything so crass as public displays of affection, but now she responds in kind. Tousles his hair as she walks past him in the kitchen on a Saturday morning, as he eats a bagel at the counter and reads the Wall Street Journal. Sidles up next to him and gives him a hug as he makes French toast and pancakes for the kids on a Sunday, delighting and embarrassing the kids at the same time while they stand in the kitchen hugging and kissing.

A sob threatens to escape her throat. Oh God. She misses him. She misses her children. She misses her family. And now she realizes why Richard was so upset about her leaving. What the hell was she thinking by leaving them for a month? A month! What planet was she on?

Daniel sits and watches the expression change on her face, from sincere, to thoughtful, to pensive, to sadness. Oh shit, he thinks, that was a question that went horribly wrong.

‘Drink up,’ he says quickly in a forced cheery tone. ‘Still lots of wine to finish off. I can’t have you sitting here looking as if you’re about to burst into tears. Here, have some pâté and tell me what’s going on in the offices of Poise! this week.’

It does the trick. Amber tells him about her time there, about being given some writing assignments, about Leona being thrilled with what she’s doing. She tells him how she feels, using her mind again after so many years, how it may be that she’s discovering a talent she never knew she had, and all the time Daniel nods and listens attentively, laughing in the right places and making her feel as if she is the most fascinating woman in the world.

And then it’s Daniel’s turn. He tells her about television producing, keeps her laughing with tales of shows he has done, and things that have gone wrong. He is well versed in this, in seducing pretty women with charm and humour, and his stories are well rehearsed, and have the desired effect. In no time the sadness has all but disappeared from Amber’s eyes, and she is sputtering her wine out with laughter at one of his stories.

They are into their second bottle of wine now, and Daniel is wondering whether he might dare try anything. She is definitely responding to him, her body now more relaxed, the stiffness and coolness far less thanks to the stories and the alcohol. I wonder, he thinks, looking at her lips, I wonder if I should take the chance.

Not yet, he thinks, although she is irresistible. No point in blowing it before he’s absolutely sure he’s in with a chance.

‘Daniel?’ A voice interrupts his reverie and he and Amber both look up to see a man standing there in T-shirt and shorts, baseball cap on head and softball bat in hand. The man takes off his cap and grins. It’s Hugh.

‘Hugh!’ Daniel scrambles to his feet and shakes hands heartily. ‘How are you, mate? What are you doing here?’

‘Company softball game,’ Hugh says. ‘Just finished.’

‘I haven’t seen you in ages. How’s the world of documentaries?’

‘Bit slow at the moment but can’t complain,’ Hugh says, looking down and smiling at Amber, waiting to be introduced, suddenly realizing she is familiar but he can’t quite place her until she speaks.

‘We’ve spoken on the phone,’ she says, in her distinctive American accent, having recognized Hugh’s voice immediately. ‘I’m Amber Winslow. I’m afraid I’m the one responsible for things being a bit slow. You called me while I was at home in America.’

‘Of course!’ Hugh Janus leans down and shakes her hand. ‘I understand why you didn’t want to be involved in a documentary. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea. Andy Warhol may have said everyone would be famous for fifteen minutes…’

‘…but not everyone wants to be famous for fifteen minutes?’ Amber finishes off for him, as he laughs.

‘Or in your case even one minute, I suspect,’ Hugh says.

‘You’re right about that. I hope it didn’t mess up your plans too much.’

‘Actually we’re still going to do it,’ Hugh says. ‘We’ve had a couple of meetings with Janelle Salinger at Poise!, and when they run the piece about how the swap actually was, they’re going to recruit more people to do it, and at that point we’re going to step in and hopefully make the documentary.’

‘You mean Vicky’s going to do it again?’ Amber looks horrified.

‘No,’ Hugh laughs. ‘Not Vicky. But we’re going to look for single career women and Desperate Housewives and swap them for a month.’

‘Are you trying to imply that I’m a Desperate Housewife?’ Amber says.

‘Not in the slightest. I’ve seen photos of your house, remember? There’s nothing desperate about that mansion you live in. Jesus. I’d give my eye teeth to have a house like that, not to mention the pool in the back garden. And anyway, the company wasn’t comfortable with sending a crew out to the States, cost-cutting and all that, and this way we’ll be able to do the whole thing over here.’

‘So it’s a good thing we refused?’

‘It’s a bloody good thing. So how’s Vicky? I know she’s not supposed to have got in touch with anyone, but you must know something?’

‘She speaks to Janelle but she hasn’t passed anything on really. I think she’s worried that if she brings it up I’ll get so homesick I’ll jump on the first plane out of here.’

‘And would you?’

‘Yes. I’m loving being here, and loving working again, even though I realize I’m not so much working as playing at working, but I just miss my family so much. I think what it’s made me realize is that at this point in my life it would be a good thing for me to find something else to do outside of my roles within the family, and outside of the charity stuff.’

‘So you want to work again?’

‘I do. I’d love to. I just don’t know what I’d like to do, but I’m loving writing, so who knows, maybe I’ll find myself writing the great American novel.’

‘Or maybe you and Vicky could get a book deal out of this,’ Hugh says.

‘Now that,’ Amber grins, ‘sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day.’

‘I thought this was the best idea you’d heard all day,’ Daniel grumbles, gesturing to the picnic, rather wishing Hugh would now disappear, although he doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.

‘Am I not allowed to hear more than two good ideas a day?’ Amber smiles. ‘Hugh, why don’t you sit down and join us for a glass of wine?’

‘I’d love to,’ Hugh smiles, dropping down onto the blanket and grinning at Daniel. ‘I would say I hope I’m not interrupting anything, because this does look like a romantic picnic for two, but Dan, mate, Vicky showed me pictures of Amber’s husband, and he looks like an Olympic god.’

‘Oh please!’ Amber laughs, as Daniel curses Hugh in silence, wishing he would just disappear.

‘So how come there are all these gorgeous single men in London?’ Amber asks after a while, as the three of them come to the end of the second bottle of wine. ‘And more to the point, given that there are so many single men in London, how in the hell has Vicky managed not to land one of them?’

‘She’s seeing Jamie Donnelly,’ Daniel reminds her.

‘No!’ Hugh says. ‘I knew there was something going on. We had a business lunch and Jamie Donnelly came over – he’s an old mate from a show we used to work on together – and all of a sudden there was all this chemistry flying around. Jamie Donnelly, eh? Well, she’d better be careful. He’s not exactly a one-woman man.’

‘You can say that again,’ Daniel laughs as Amber frowns.

‘What do you mean?’ she says.

‘He’s got a reputation for being a serious womanizer,’ Hugh says. ‘He’s got a different woman on his arm pretty much every night.’

Amber is horrified. ‘But I think Vicky really likes him. Does she know this?’

‘Well if she reads the paper, which I assume she does, she’d know. It’s not exactly a secret.’

‘But I think she really thinks this could turn into something serious,’ Amber persists. ‘Honestly, I’ve talked to her about him, she’s seriously in love with the guy.’

Hugh raises his eyebrows, as does Daniel, because even he hasn’t realized quite how serious Vicky is about Jamie.

‘She is?’ Hugh says. ‘God, well maybe I’ve got it wrong. Maybe he’s finally met the woman who’s going to be able to tame him. Well I hope so. Vicky’s a nice girl, deserves to meet someone. What about you, Dan? When are you going to settle down?’

‘Not in the foreseeable future,’ Daniel says. ‘So many women, so little time. So how’s Lara? Are you married yet?’

Hugh’s face falls. ‘No. Not married yet, actually. Things aren’t going too well at the moment. It’s the first time we’ve really hit a rough spot, and we’re just taking it a day at a time right now.’

‘Oh that’s terrible.’ Amber places a hand on Hugh’s arm. ‘I hope it works out for you.’

‘Thanks,’ says Hugh. ‘I suppose whatever’s meant to be will be.’ He looks at his watch. ‘Look, I’d better be going. I’ve already far outstayed my welcome, but thanks for the wine. Great to actually meet you, Amber. Good luck with everything.’

‘Thanks, Hugh.’ She stands up and, instead of taking his outstretched hand, spontaneously gives him a hug, a maternal, reassuring hug, patting him on the back as if to say everything’s going to be okay. After all, isn’t that exactly what Vicky would do?

Daniel is not happy. The evening was going so well before Hugh Janus arrived. Momentum was gathering, he definitely thought he was in with a chance, and then Hugh arrived and any frissons disappeared, leaving Amber lost in thought once again, and himself without a hope in hell.

They reach the flat and Amber turns to him and gives him a hug. As he stands there in her arms, wondering if now might be the time to lift her hair and place a soft kiss on her bare shoulder, he feels her pat him on the back in exactly the same maternal, reassuring way she did to Hugh Janus, and he knows that if ever he was right, if ever at some point that evening there was a moment when something might have happened, when Amber might have put aside her other life and welcomed him in instead, that moment has well and truly gone.

And he’s not sure he’ll ever get it back.

‘I’ve had a wonderful evening,’ Amber says, pulling away from him with a smile, then reaching up and placing a kiss on his cheek. ‘I think you’re a lovely man, and if I weren’t married I would have been more than a little flattered by all the attention you’ve paid me this evening, although I have a feeling that if I weren’t married, you might have treated me differently.’ The words are harsh, but softened by Amber’s gentle smile.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that I think you like what isn’t yours. That what really turns you on is the thrill of the chase, the thrill of the unattainable, and that the minute it’s yours you probably don’t want it any more.’

Daniel starts to protest, but the wine has fogged his brain, and he can’t quite get the words out, so instead he shrugs with a smile. ‘I think,’ he says finally, ‘that I would have paid you the same attention whatever your situation.’

‘Well that’s lovely to hear,’ she says, and opens the front door, pausing for a moment to look at Daniel. ‘Thank you for a perfect evening,’ she says. ‘Can we do it again? As friends?’

‘Sure,’ says Daniel. ‘I’ll call you,’ and he waves and turns away, feeling fairly certain that he won’t see Amber again, or if he does, his chance has come and gone.

Amber sits cross-legged on Vicky’s bed and places the photographs of her family on the cover in front of her, and she starts to cry, the pain of missing them just too much for her to bear any more.

‘Oh bugger,’ she says out loud, in true English fashion, and reaches for the phone, not caring that she’s not supposed to call home, nor that it is around five o’clock in the afternoon, which is dinnertime and commonly referred to in her house as the witching hour. I want Richard, she thinks. I’m far away from home and I’m lonely, and I need to hear my husband’s voice. I need to hear that everything’s okay, because I don’t want to do this any more. I don’t want to be here. I want to be home, where I belong.

The phone rings and rings, and then Amber hears the machine pick up and, bizarrely, she hears Vicky’s clipped English tones on her answerphone. ‘You’ve reached the Winslow residence,’ she hears. ‘There’s no one available to take your call, but please leave your name and number after the tone and someone will get back to you.’ ‘Oh God,’ Amber whispers, putting down the receiver without leaving a message, taking a big gulp of breath. ‘I know I signed up for this but why do I feel that I’m in danger? Why are my antennae suddenly going up?’ Amber hadn’t expected to hear Vicky’s voice on her machine, and hadn’t expected to feel what she is suddenly, and unaccountably, feeling.

Fear.

Amber shivers as a thought comes to her. What do I do if another woman is trying to take over my life?