They would not have known anyway, would they?The door to 603 was ajar - held open by the safety latch - and I pushed it open tentatively. "Jake?" Hello, Emily, you look so wonderful!"As he closed and latched the door I looked nervously around the elegantly appointed room. My eyes fixed on an envelope on the dresser that seemed very full."Oh my god!" I gasped as my hand went up to my mouth."It's all there. Put it in your purse." I was shaking again, and as I wedged it into my purse, tears ran down my cheeks.Jake came over and brushed off the tears with his finger. "What am I supposed to do?" I asked."Don't worry. We have time." And he kissed me as he pulled our bodies together. His kisses were wonderful. Deep. Passionate. My whole body responded. Our tongues played delightfully.Then he led me over to the sofa and we sat down to a bottle of wine. I didn't need any more but it was delicious and I took a few sips.We started making out again - his hands wandering over my clothes and I. I was 44 years old and fit, working out regularly at my local private health club and cycling about 300 miles a week in the summer time, less in the winter. Just down the street and round the corner from my flat was a ubiquitous Pakistani corner shop. There seemed to be corner shops owned either by Indians or Africans all over the city, and in every city for that matter. They were always useful because they were open when no other shops were open, early in the morning, late at night and during every public holiday. Very useful. This particular shop was owned by a very nice couple, both in their 50s, and they alternated their work, but it was always one of them in the shop. One day I went into the shop and there was a new woman behind the counter. She was Pakistani like the owners, and probably about 40 years old but with an incredibly welcoming face and very pretty. She looked at me, sizing me up, and I looked at her, sizing her up. Actually, it’s bad to say it like that but, in.
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