LITMIR.BIZ

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How can you have sex with someone you don’t even like, or really know? Is it just a male thing? Is that why I can’t understand it?”

      Fran gave her an incredulous look. “Haven’t you ever fantasized about having sex with a stranger, or met a man and been struck with instant lust for him? All you want is to get laid, right then and there. No getting-to-know-you stuff. No prelims. No niceties. Just down-and-dirty sex.”

      “Good Lord, no,” Zoe denied, her face hotting up again. “I can’t think of anything worse. I have to at least like a man before I can go to bed with him.” She’d even liked the ghastly Greg, ‘til he’d shown his true colors. “I haven’t even looked at another man since going out with Drake, let alone want to get laid by one.”

      “You’ve never had a one-night stand?”

      “No. Never.”

      “My, my, you are an original, Zoe. Maybe that’s why Drake is so crazy about you, and doesn’t want to lose you. Such romantic idealism and tunnel-vision loyalty is rare in this day and age. He could trust you anywhere, anytime. Which brings us back to the point. Can you ever trust him again? Should you or should you not break up with him? Should you believe him when he says he’s sorry, and give him another chance?”

      “That’s exactly my problem,” Zoe said unhappily. “I honestly don’t know what to do.”

      “And I honestly can’t tell you what to do. It has to be your decision. All I can say is I’d like a dollar for every woman I’ve represented who’s later regretted breaking up her marriage over a spot of adultery. She ends up miserable and lonely whilst the husband simply moves on to the other woman.”

      “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Zoe mumbled. “Being miserable and lonely.”

      “Then give him another chance. What have you got to lose?”

      “My pride and self-respect?”

      Fran laughed. “Most of the divorced women I know don’t find pride and self-respect much solace in their beds at night.”

      But it wasn’t the sex Zoe was going to miss so much. It was the company. And the sense of purpose. The promise of a happy future together.

      She sighed. “I suppose I will take him back. In the end. But I hate the thought of his being forgiven so easily and so quickly. Drake’s coming over after work tonight and I just know he’ll talk me ‘round in no time flat.”

      “You’d rather him suffer a while longer, is that it?”

      “Yes, I guess so. Then he might understand how much he hurt me by what he did.”

      “You know, that’s not such a bad idea,” Fran said, twisting back and forth on her swivel chair, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Why don’t you go away somewhere for the weekend and not tell him? Let him sweat for a while. Let him worry and wonder over where you are, and who you might be with. I guarantee, when you finally get back, he won’t take you for granted ever again.”

      The idea did appeal.

      “Why not go home for the weekend?” Fran suggested.

      “That’d be the first place Drake would think of. He’d ring there for sure.”

      “Haven’t you heard of little white lies, Zoe? Just don’t answer the phone yourself and get whoever does to say they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of you.”

      “Yes, I could do that, but the trouble is Betty would ask all sorts of awkward questions.”

      “Who’s Betty? I thought you were an only child and your dad, a widower.”

      “I am and he is. Betty’s his housekeeper. She’s a lovely lady, but she’s far too intuitive and too darned good at worming things out of me. I honestly don’t want to tell her about this. Drake came home with me at Christmas and he wasn’t on his best behavior. He never is when he’s bored stiff. I don’t want to blot his copybook any further, not if I aim to forgive him.”

      “Okay, so home’s out…” Fran started chewing the end of a biro as she did when working out some legal strategy. Finally, she snapped forward on her chair and stood up. “I have it! I’ll ask Nigel if you can use his weekender. He’s not going up there this weekend, because he’s off to the opening of some play tomorrow night, starring his latest love. Wait here.”

      Fran was gone before Zoe could say yeah or nay.

      Nigel was Nigel Cox, the third partner in the firm. Fortyish and openly gay, he represented several highly paid clients in the entertainment and sporting world. Zoe didn’t really have much to do with him. He had his own assistant, as did Angus. She’d heard of the weekender, though. From June, who called it Nigel’s little love nest.

      Apparently, it overlooked a small beach up near Port Stephens, just far enough off the main tourist route for privacy, but close enough to civilization for essential supplies and services, which meant a good selection of five-star restaurants. Nigel’s second favorite hobby in life—according to the ever-knowledgeable June—was gourmet food.

      Fran swept back in eventually, carrying a set of keys and two hand-drawn maps.

      “Mission accomplished,” she said, dumping everything in Zoe’s lap then perching up on the edge of her desk. She looked very satisfied with herself. “Nigel, the dear, generous boy, never asks any awkward questions. Just handed these over and said he hoped everything would work out for you. Actually, you’re not the first female in crisis I’ve sent up there and they all spoke highly of the place afterward.”

      “What’s it like?” Zoe asked.

      “Never been myself. It isn’t called Hideaway Beach for nothing, and peace and quiet is not my bag. Neither is the sun, sea and surf. I can’t swim, for starters, and I burn like mad. Anyway, Nigel said to tell you the kitchen cupboards, freezer and wine rack are all stocked up and to help yourself. There’s also a gas station and general store half a mile down the road which fortunately has a liquor license. It has practically everything you might need. Fresh bread every day, milk, cigarettes, chocolates, condoms.”

      “Very funny, Fran,” Zoe said dryly. “I don’t think condoms are going to be high on my shopping list.”

      “Well, you never know. His only warning is for you to leave before three this afternoon as after that the traffic heading north on a Friday afternoon would give blood pressure to a corpse. And he suggests you get up very very early on the Monday morning rather than try to drive back on the Sunday evening, for the same reason. You do still have your car, don’t you?”

      “Well, yes, of course I do, but…”

      “I know exactly what you’re going to say. You don’t finish here ‘til six at the earliest on a Friday afternoon, since you have a slave driver of a boss who never knows when to quit. But just this once, I’m going to give you an early mark, starting right now. After all, we females should stick together. Can’t have the males of the species thinking they have us taped, can we?”

      Zoe didn’t know what to say.

      “No need to thank me,” Fran said, laughing at her girl Friday’s dumbfoundedness. “I’ll work your butt off next week to make up for it.”

      Zoe smiled wryly. She didn’t doubt it. Her boss was a workaholic if ever there was one. “If Drake rings here or contacts you, you won’t tell him where I am, will you?”

      “I’ll just say you asked for the afternoon off, you’ve gone away for the weekend but I don’t know where. Now don’t forget to turn your cell phone off as well. Or better yet, don’t take it with you.”

      “I always take it in the car with me for safety reasons and emergencies. But I’ll definitely leave it turned off all weekend.”

      “Excellent.”

      When Zoe stood up with the map and the keys in hand, she was struck with a moment’s

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