Mary sat at right angles to her desk and stared irritably at the wall beside it, tapping her pencil over and over on the blotter pad. She heard a soft sigh from over her shoulder.

'What's the matter, Mary?'

'Nothing.'

'Well, there obviously is. You're in a rare old mood today.'

Mary narrowed her eyes at a spot on the noticeboard where a small, ragged piece of paper was still attached by a drawing pin. 'I'm perfectly fine, Tom,' she ground out.

There was silence behind her then she heard the soft scratch of a pen nib on paper as Tom went back to his work.

Mary pursed her lips, irritated all over again, this time by the calmness of her brother-in-law when she herself was a tightly wound ball of tension. Tap, tap, tap went the pencil. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

Mary jumped as a warm hand closed on hers, stilling the motion of the pencil. She stared at Tom's hand, her skin tingling where he touched her.

'Enough,' he said gently. 'What on earth's got into you today?'

At that, Mary huffed out a bitter laugh. Nothing had got into her. Which was exactly the problem.

Tom took the pencil from her and rounded the desk, skirting her legs to perch next to her. He crossed his arms over his chest, adopting the stance of a man willing to take as long as he needed to get to the bottom of the problem. 'Talk to me.'

'I can't.'

He raised an eyebrow at her. 'Come on, Mary. It's me. You can talk to me about anything.'

Mary glanced at his honest, open face then looked away. 'Not this, I can't.'

Tom was quiet for a minute then nudged the heel of her shoe with the toe of his. 'Come on. Whatever it is, I'm sure you'll feel better for getting it off your chest.'

Mary closed her eyes, debating the wisdom of saying anything. But she knew Tom and she knew he wouldn't let it lie until he was sure she was all right and she wasn't all right. She opened her eyes and glared at him like it was his fault she was in a stew.

'All right,' she said, 'but when you get horribly embarrassed and wish the ground would swallow you up, remember that you wanted to know.'

Tom's eyebrows shot up, a gentle smirk creasing the corners of his mouth. 'Goodness. Now I'm really intrigued. Come on, out with it.'

Squaring her shoulders, Mary dropped her eyes back to the noticeboard and ploughed on before she could change her mind. 'I miss Matthew.'

There was a beat of silence then Tom said softly, 'I know you do.'

'No. You don't understand. I miss Matthew… physically.' Mary glanced up at Tom to see a puzzled frown on his face. 'Oh, for God's sake, Tom. I miss Matthew physically. The physical side of our relationship. Sex. I miss sex, all right!'

The puzzled frown disappeared, and, despite her own discomfort, Mary experienced a tiny jolt of amusement to see a pink blush stealing over Tom's cheeks.

'Oh,' he said. 'Right. I see.'

'I didn't at first. I just missed him, everything about him, but then I… I… well, I began to miss… that. A lot. And so, I… I…' she broke off, looking down to avoid his gaze, not sure whether to carry on anymore.

Tom cocked his head, curious. 'You what?' he asked, somewhat against his better judgment.

Mary snapped her head up and stared at him defiantly. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought. 'I did something about it.'

Tom's eyebrows scooted towards his hairline. 'What did you do, Mary?'

'I spent a week at a hotel with Tony Gillingham.'

Tom thought quickly, putting two and two together. 'Your mysterious sketching trip?'

'I went to bed with him.'

'Yes, I gathered that.'

'But it didn't work.'

Tom looked confused at that. 'What do you mean, it didn't work?'

Mary flushed but refused to look away. 'Tony was… disappointing. He didn't make me… feel anything.'

This time Tom really did blush, but Mary was positive her face was as red as a tomato too. She carried on, determined to get it all out.

'I didn't… I wasn't… he didn't satisfy me and now… now everything's worse. I've made it worse, Tom. I actually think I might be going mad. It's all I can think about and I'm on edge all the time and it feels like my skin doesn't fit me anymore and I can't bear it!'

Tom stared at her, apparently too shocked by her confession to speak.

Unable to stand the silence, Mary kept talking, pushing out of her chair, and pacing up and down in front of Tom. 'I don't know what's wrong with me. I really don't. Every man I see, every man I cross paths with, I think maybe I could… maybe he could… you know.'

Tom looked at her sharply. 'Every man?'

Mary glared at him, annoyed at the thought that he might be judging her even though she judged herself. 'Yes, every man. Even Barrow, for heaven's sake! And we all know he's definitely not the man to put me out of my misery.'

'Even me?' Tom asked softly.

Mary jerked to a halt, eyes wide and guilty. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Suddenly, she found she could no longer meet his gaze. 'I have to go.'

'Mary, don't…' Tom reached out a hand to stop her, but she was already gone, practically running out of the office, the door swinging closed behind her.