Jon Quinn needed more than sex, he needed to fill a gap, companionship. And that could be dangerous. The guy was one of these food-freaks who thought everybody else should be also, so he was marketing organic produce and preaching that chemicals were poisoning half the population of the world.

Then Sylvia had started dishing up these funny meals at weekends; no longer proper salads with lettuce, tomato and cucumber, but all sorts of fruit mixed up with nuts. Just weaning her husband on to nuts. A nut-roast next. Jesus, she was really going nuts!

Gradually Eric Atkinson was aware of his marriage slipping away from him, an erosion that revealed itself in a number of ways. Sylvia's personality was changing, becoming morose. Because her mind was on Jon Quinn. When she prepared a vegetarian meal it was for him, not Eric, regardless of who ate it or slyly tipped it into the waste-bin.

Eric had wondered what to do about it. Should he tackle her outright? No, she might lie to him and whatever else she had done she had never lied. If she did that then he would lose his respect for her and then it would al! be over. That he didn't want, oh Christ Almighty no. A sudden realisation, in spite of it all he loved Sylvia. God yes, and he missed her like hell. Which was why he had other women whilst he was away from home. Substitutes; each and every one of them was a Sylvia.

So he had let her carry on with Jon Quinn, afraid to detonate the affair into something he couldn't handle. Each weekend he went home with the same nagging fear, his mouth dry, his guts in knots. I'm sorry, Eric, I'm leaving. Really, I'm sorry, please believe me, but I need a husband not just a weekend lover. Or maybe just a note left on the mantelshelf, the easy way out.

But it hadn't happened and he had come to the decision that just by letting the affair continue, it wouldn't. It might go on for years. Basically it boiled down to this bloody job. Reps were married to their firms. You gave them everything or else you were out on your ear. They bought your marriage, your life, months and years which you could never retrieve, all for a pittance of a salary offset by reasonable expenses.

So he let it go, just like that. Every weekend he came home to an organic diet that had a distinct Quinn flavour about it, got a thrill out of screwing Sylvia in the same way that he had that night when Al had first had her, and it would be this way until he retired at 65. Fuck the firm, they didn't even offer him a redundancy when they had drastic cut-backs three years ago. No golden handshake for him. Maybe it was as well, though, because if he fouled up Sylvia's little game she might take off and go and live with Quinn. Don't poke the sleeping lion, as the saying went.

Marlene was the nearest he'd found to Sylvia yet. Sophisticated, sexy, her husband was an 'area manager', an up-market rep. He sometimes stayed away weekends too; it was a vicious circle, they were all on the same roundabout. Sometimes you lose, sometimes you win. You paid your money and gambled your luck.

She wore a long evening gown tonight that showed off every curve, didn't leave you with much to guess, the kind that gave you a hard-on under the table and you hoped that the other diners thought she was your wife. She was class and she gave you class. Yet tonight she was strangely sombre, long periods when she concentrated on her food and didn't speak at all. There was definitely something on her mind but he knew her well enough to know that if she wanted to tell him she would do so in her own good time. If she didn't want to, she wouldn't. You knew where you stood with Marlene, no bullshit. That compensated for a lot.

She played with the stem of her wine-glass, regarded him thoughtfully. Shall I tell him or not? Decision time. Finally she decided to tell him.

'Joey's left me.' She said it just like that. She might have said Tm going to mow the front lawn tomorrow.'

'Oh!' For once he felt incredibly stupid. His vision swam, something clutched at his heart and stopped it for a second, restarted it almost immediately. Tm sorry.' He didn't know whether he was or not; if he was, he was sorry for himself.

'He's had a woman down in Lampeter for a long time.' She talked easier now that she had made her decision. 'I knew about it, of course, but there was nothing I could do about it even if I'd wanted to. I just let things take their course, it's often the best way because they generally work out. I'm not sorry because our marriage as such was finished three years ago. Divorces are easy, don't take long these days, but I guess right now I'm a free woman, Eric.1 The bail's in your court.

Suddenly his Kentucky fried chicken tasted sour, the dry white wine so bitter that he grimaced. Sylvia, darling, I love you. This is only a game like yours. Our marriage isn't over, it's just gone into a recession like everything else in this damned crazy world. Given time it'll come back. It has to.

'Oh, I see.' He did, only too well. 'What . . . what are your plans then?' Don't answer that because I don't want to hear, I don't want to jettison my fantasies. I don't want reality.

'Do you really need to ask?' The twin candlelight had her dark eyes glistening and because he couldn't meet her gaze he found himself looking down at her cleavage. Small perfectly shaped breasts that had never been suckled by a babe; just himself. And others. But he topped the poll at the moment.

'No, I suppose I don't.' He tried to laugh but it came out wrong. False.

'That's fine then.' She didn't appear to notice. Tve been married to a right bastard for more years than I care to remember and you've been hitched to a bitch who goes and screws with any guy who gives her the eye.'

He felt himself cringe, wanted to leap to his feet and yell, 'No, she's not like that at all. It's me. I've screwed another bird already this week. That's all I'm after. Sex. I don't want a permanent relationship with any woman except my wife.1 But he didn't because he was too scared.

'You've told me often enough that you're in love with me,' she went on. 'Well, I'm in love with you too, Eric, and at last it looks like we'll be able to share each other for ever instead of continuing with this nerve-racking affair, wondering ail the time if somebody who knows us will see us.'

'Yes, it'll be nice,' he said politely. 'For both of us. I'll talk to Sylvia about it this weekend.'

'Will you, really?' Euphoric relief in her tone, her slim fingers coming across the table in search of his. 'I knew I hadn't made a mistake about you, Eric. I confess that at one time I thought that maybe I was just your once-a-week woman, a bit on the side and then shelved for another week. I know now that I was wrong. Let's treat tonight as a celebration because everything's working out. When we go upstairs tonight I really will feel that I'm Mrs Atkinson at long last.'

Mrs Marlene Atkinson! There was a glisten of perspiration on Eric's forehead as they went up in the elevator after dinner. Mr and Mrs Atkinson! Jesus Christ, he wouldn't be able to stall this one for long. I've spoken to Sylvia, Marlene, and she says that's fine but we've got to straighten a few things out first. It won't take long. Marlene wasn't the kind to hang about. Everything was going to blow up in his face, one way or the other, very soon.

Her naked body didn't look so alluring tonight and he knew he had got to put on another act, the clandestine lover who has finally got his woman for keeps. She was eager for him, helping him off with his clothes, her sensuous fingers straying all the time, then pulling him down on the bed with her.

'Just think, Eric, it'll always be like this with us from now on. And maybe you can get another job so that you won't have to be away from home all the time.' Not that I don't trust you but I want you all to myself.