Now the guilt really jumped at me. “This isn’t what I wanted was it?” I though. “I’ve too much to lose. I should call it a night and get out of here. My wife has everything I need and we love each other.” And then the rationalisation kicked in once again. “But then, of course, this is leading nowhere. It’s just friendly, innocent conversation and I’m enjoying it. I can control it.” She answered my question by saying, “It’s really the only naughty kind of thing that I do, and to tell you the truth I love dressing that way. And just in case you were wondering; no, my husband doesn’t know I dress this way when I’m away from home. It’s my way of secretly giving myself some freedom from the daily grind. It adds a little spice to my life but, you know, that’s as far as it’s gone.” “So you enjoy being forbidden and untouchable and, in your own way, something of an exhibitionist?” I said. “Well, I guess I’m not really an exhibitionist. At least not in the true sense. Sure, there have been a. Then Connie stood and gathered her bags, ‘Nice seeing you, Dan. I enjoyed our little chat.’ ‘Likewise, Connie, maybe I’ll see you around.’ She crossed in front of me, walked past a woman sitting a few feet from me and sat down again. I could see her out of the corner of my eye. Connie extracted a pad from one of her bags and wrote a note, passing it to the woman sitting between us. The woman tapped my arm and held out the note. I recognised her straight away. ‘Hi, Sherry,’ I said, ‘I was sorry to hear about Bobby.’ ‘He passed on painlessly in his sleep, Dan. I got your condolence card last week,’ Sherry said, then added, quiet as a whisper, ‘Thirty-five years ago I got those concert tickets and a week later the negatives of … Harold and me … turned up.’ I nodded. She continued whispering. ‘That fling was a one-night thing and months before Roebuck’s release. Bobby was on nights and, well, Harold was very persuasive.’ ‘I was patient,’ I said, ‘I had followed and taken earlier photos.
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