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Saul commented, ‘but that’s my afternoon – top beaches and barbecue tips. And a haircut – look at me, Christ!’

      ‘After my morning of men,’ Thea told him, ‘I have an afternoon of girls – my ballet dancer, two pregnant women and my little old lady. But I’d really better make tracks and warm my hands or I’ll lose all my clients.’

      ‘And then you’ll come to mine?’ Saul asked. ‘Movie? Villandry carpet picnic? Rude sex?’

      ‘Reverse order, preferably,’ Thea said. She looked at Saul and bit her bottom lip with coquettish intent. ‘Who’d’ve thought that cheesy crisps were an aphrodisiac.’

      Saul took Thea at face value and didn’t dare say he’d made it up. ‘Let’s sneak up to your room for a quickie,’ he said instead, ‘you know you want it, you dirty thing!’

      ‘You’re incorrigible. I’m not remotely tempted,’ Thea scolded him playfully, kissing him teasingly with her tongue before flouncing into the Being Well with a provocative wiggle.

      ‘Christ, I need a shag,’ Saul muttered to himself, putting beaches and barbecues on the back burner, the haircut on hold.

      ADAM

       April, Issue 11

       Vic Reeves/Bob Mortimer cover

       Why British comedy rocks

       Rock – why British rock is comedy

       Sex – rock hard

       Vinnie Jones – still rock hard

       Travel – Gibraltar, Brighton and Australia – and other famous rocks

       Sport – rock climbing

       Win! Some rocks, courtesy of De Beers

      ADAM

       May, Issue 12

       Emmanuelle Beart/Vanessa Paradis double cover

       It’s in the Cannes – the sexiest film festival, now and then

       Secrets, lies and big big bucks – what keeps the film industry rolling

       Muscle in – steroid abuse: coming to your high-street chemist soon

       Sex addiction – bona-fide illness or top excuse

       Air guitar, shadow boxing and imaginary golf swings – good for your health

       Property how-to: it doesn’t cost much and it won’t hurt your back

       Win! A line in Danny Boyle’s new film

      Saul sat in Alice’s office and they both swivelled in the chairs, Saul tapping a Biro gently against his teeth, Alice furrowing her brow and twitching her lip, while they brainstormed features for future issues.

      ‘How about,’ Alice mused, ‘sex advice through the eyes of – hang on – a porn star, a sex therapist and a—’

      ‘Housewife,’ Saul suggested.

      ‘Brilliant,’ Alice said, her fingers scuttling over her keyboard.

      ‘I was thinking,’ Saul said, ‘the Tour de France for the July issue – the world’s best athletes or drugged-up cheats.’

      ‘Yep,’ said Alice, ‘I like it. How’s the August issue going?’

      Saul twitched his lip. He looked sidelong at Alice, swivelled a complete revolution, rolled up the sleeves on his shirt, ran his fingers through his hair, rubbed his chin and then leant forward. ‘I’m going to hear by the end of the week if we’ve got Bowie for the cover,’ he said nonchalantly.

      ‘Oh, Good Lord,’ Alice exclaimed, blushing visibly, clasping her hand to her heart. She reached across her desk and grabbed Saul’s wrists, her eyes darting around his. ‘Seriously?’ she whispered. ‘Because you know you really must never joke about something like that.’ Saul raised an eyebrow in affirmation. ‘Oh, Good Lord,’ Alice exclaimed. She slumped back in her chair. ‘I’m coming to the photo shoot,’ she declared. ‘Have you told Thea?’

      Saul shook his head. ‘It’s not confirmed,’ he cautioned, ‘and the shoot will be in New York.’

      ‘Well, I feel a business trip coming on,’ Alice proclaimed, ‘and I’ll need an assistant, of course.’

      ‘I’m far too busy,’ Saul declared.

      ‘Not you, idiot boy, Thea!’ Alice retorted, quietly wondering if an enduring crush on an ageing icon was in any way unsuitable for a married woman. She swiftly decided it was not.

      ‘Anyway, Bowie or not, the issue’s coming on fine,’ Saul assured her, ‘it’ll be the biggest yet and the ad team are storming their targets already.’

      ‘Brilliant,’ said Alice. ‘Bowie. Oh, my God. Right. Yes. Moving on – how about something on relationship dynamics, you know, who has power.’

      ‘Who has the balls, who wears the trousers,’ Saul said, ‘that’s good – I’ll try and commission someone like Jeff Green to write it. Oh, Richard Stonehill is putting me in touch with a guy who has a self-build company – I thought that would make an interesting piece.’

      ‘Certainly,’ said Alice, ‘and Ben from the music division is working on Liam Gallagher. Come on, let’s go for lunch. Thea said you had an amazing weekend in Brighton. You were lucky with the weather – May bank holiday is usually a washout.’

      Saul gathered his things and followed Alice through the building. He smiled to himself, recalling Thea that previous weekend, stripping off nonchalantly on a quiet spot on the beach. It was only when she was down to her knickers that he clarified it was Bournemouth, not Brighton, that had the nudist beach.

      ‘Saul thinks we’ll have Bowie for the August issue,’ Alice told Mark as he loaded the dishwasher. ‘Can you believe that?’

      ‘Believe what, darling?’ Mark asked distractedly.

      ‘That we’ll have Bowie for the August issue,’ Alice frowned.

      ‘Well done,’ Mark said, straightening up and rubbing the small of his back. ‘I think I’ll take some paracetamol.’

      ‘So I may go to New York for the shoot,’ Alice said, though she feared tempting fate by being presumptuous.

      ‘New York?’ Mark said, rummaging through his briefcase for painkillers. ‘No, San Francisco next week, home via Chicago.’

      ‘I give up,’ Alice muttered, turning her back on Mark and her attention to the Evening Standard, flipping noisily through the pages.

      ‘Alice,’ Mark protested quietly, ‘I just really want to knock the Gerber–Klein deal on the head – precisely so there won’t be so much travelling.’

      ‘Until the next deal,’ Alice said under her breath. ‘Actually, I was talking about me, Mark – I may have to go to New York.’

      ‘For work?’ Mark asked.

      ‘Yes, Mark, we’re shooting Bowie for the August issue and he’s personally requested I attend,’ Alice said with cutting nonchalance, though she was now convinced she’d probably jinxed the deal completely.

      ‘Well, that’s a feather to your cap,’ Mark said ingenuously, wondering why his wife looked cross when her news was so good. He swallowed the paracetamol. ‘John and Lisa have invited us to dinner next Friday,’ Mark changed the subject brightly, ‘and Leo and Nadia want to know if we’d like to accompany them to the Barbican the following week – Madame Butterfly.’

      Alice tried to bite her tongue but she missed, snapping at Mark instead. ‘Oh, great. Dull dinners with your boss and sodding opera with

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