"I'll be careful," she promised.

"That's my girl."

"It really is going to be fun," said Sharon, her eyes lighting with renewed excitement, her mind momentarily off the impending flight and separation. "Just think, Neal: a real old-English country estate, in the foggy moors! I feel like… well, like Jane Eyre or somebody."

Neal laughed. "I'm kind of looking forward to it myself, all right. But if you hear any howling beasts in the middle of the night, don't you dare go out to investigate!"

She poked his arm lightly. "Oh you!"

He sobered for a moment, kissing her again and peering into her eyes. "You will have a good time won't you? I'll be thinking about you all the while I'm in Greece."

"And I about you, darling," she replied. "But I'll have a fine time, I know I will."

If young Sharon Court had but overheard in that moment the low-toned conversation being carried on by the other two people waiting with them – Lena and Rodney Alvaro – she would not have been so certain of her enjoyment of the next few days at Marlowe Manor; she would, in fact, have recoiled in abject horror and disbelief at the exchange of words between her supposed best friend and the man who was her husband's superior. Never in her wildest imagination could she have considered the dark and licentious plotting of these two outwardly normal, respectable people.

Lena Alvaro – smallish, pert, just past thirty – stood very close to her graying, distinguished, somewhat portly mate, her dark eyes flashing with a usually hidden intensity. Her black, close-cropped hair shone with reddish highlights in the strong light of the airport waiting area, and her generous red mouth was quirked into a smile of anticipation and delight. Her long-nailed fingers plucked at the buttons on his overcoat in emphasis as she spoke.