It was six o clock - cocktail hour, and they were sitting together on a small sofa in Harry's wing of the upper floor, her feet curled against his thigh. Dempsey surveyed the rich oil paintings hanging on the walls around him. As ever, the opulence of the place staggered him, even if his powers of adaptability meant that he was able to mask it well.

Upon their arrival in the afternoon, her father had informed them that there would be other guests this weekend: her uncle and aunt would also be visiting. Harry appeared a little surprised but made no comment. As she had predicted, Lord Winfield greeted Dempsey with unreserved pleasure and enthusiasm and they had taken tea in the grandiose parlour before he accompanied them on a brief walk in the grounds as dusk fell.

Now Dempsey took another sip of his gin and tonic and rubbed his thumb against Harry's foot. Her old man was a cool guy, he reflected drowsily. Although he was almost a parody of a well-bred English gent of the old school, his kindness and lack of snobbery was clear on extended acquaintance. Dempsey didn't think he'd ever be completely comfortable in such alien surroundings, but this was Harry's home and he was certainly comfortable with her. One day, he'd take her back to New York City – show her his roots.

They were due to downstairs at eight pm. In addition to Harry's relatives, several other guests from the local area had been invited for the evening.

She put her head on his shoulder. "James?"

"Yeah?"

"We've got two hours before dinner,"

"Uh huh."

"What would you like to do?"

A few things ran through his mind.

"I'm happy just sitting here with you, angel. This drink is good. I'm good"

"Just sitting here, really?"

"Sure. Unless you have anything else in mind?"

He turned his head to look into her face. She gazed up at him, slid a hand across his stomach.

"Mmm, I don't know. Something fun?" Her smile was impossibly inviting.

"Monopoly?"

"Don't be cute."

She manoeuvred herself smoothly on to his knee and put her arms around his neck.

"That's the first time you've ever accused me of tha…" She stopped him with a kiss. Her hair fell into his face, soft, faintly perfumed. She was so light; he sensed the ease with which he could pick her up and carry her through to the bedroom beyond, but for now he resisted the impulse. He turned his face into her neck.

For a while they luxuriated in the closeness. Being with Harry felt so natural, as if he had known her forever. He had always been so very attracted to her, but now it was more. Perhaps it was because of what they had been through together, or because he thought of her as his best friend. Whatever it was, it was both wonderful and frightening. He already knew that he never wanted to let her go.

As if reading his thoughts, she pulled back.

"How about a bath?"

He grinned.

"You know, I was just thinkin' how good that would feel."

"The one up here's big enough for a rugby team. I used to love soaking in it." She stood up and took him by the hand.

On entering the room, he saw what she meant. The space itself was huge and almost empty save for a sink and a towel rack against one wall. In the centre was a large tub on feet. Harry turned both the taps on full.

"It takes a while to fill. The water's either scalding or freezing; there's an art to getting the balance right."

As the level began to slowly rise, she leaned over and poured in a liberal amount of bath essence. There were small spotlights around a big mirror on one wall; more were studded into the floor and the glow they cast around the room was muted and atmospheric. Without blinds or curtains, the large floor-to-ceiling bay window revealed an expanse of blackness as flurries of white flakes danced against the glass. The snow had barely let up since their arrival.

"Ain't you worried people will see us?"

She smiled. "No. We're too high up. Even if there was anyone out there to look."

"What about your Dad's guests?"

"It's too early."

Again, he smiled. 'I'm glad I never saw this place first time I came here last year."

"Why not?"

"Cos I wouldn't have been able to concentrate at work, picturin' you lyin' in this tub, silhouetted in the window. Never woulda guessed it, either."

"It just goes to show."

"What?"

"You never really know a person."

"Ain't that the truth!"

She was sitting on the edge of the bath, rhythmically churning the essence with her fingers. She looked back at him.

"So are these revelations good or bad, James? Are you glad you came?"

Her voice was deliberately playful, but he knew her well enough to understand the seriousness of the question beneath its light tone.

He came behind her and stroked her hair.

"You really need to ask?"

"I suppose not. But I'm glad. I'm glad you're here."

"That makes two of us."

That intensity again. When he looked into her eyes, it was as though there was an invisible force field between them. She turned off the taps and then slowly, her fingers began to work at the buttons of the sheer blouse she wore. She shrugged it off, revealing bare shoulders, bare breasts. He didn't move, but watched as she unzipped her jeans, and pushed them down with her underwear in one fluid motion, her eyes always on him.

A sound came out of his throat and he reached for her, but she slipped away and stepped into the tub, lowering herself quickly into the warm water. She lay back, foam rising to her décolletage.

'Now you."

He didn't need asking twice.

She lay with her back to his chest as he sponged the scented water across her stomach and shoulders. Intermittently he kissed her neck and cupped her slippery breasts, trying to keep a lid on his excitement. His bathing became more lax until finally she turned to face him and began to reciprocate the caresses. Water splashed unheeded from the tub to the floor.

They moved together for a long time, until neither of them could hold out any longer. As she called his name he held her tight around the waist, face to her breast.

Some time later, he lay sprawled on the bed, drifting.

"Gonna stay here now Harry, me and you," he mumbled. Then he was asleep.