Friends, Lovers and other Indiscretions [antikvár]

Until eleven o'clock that morning in late Febmary, Sam Diamond had considered himself a reasonably happily married man. It was his thirty-ninth birthday and every year since they had met, Laura had spmng a surprise on him. Admittedly these had become less inventive since they'd had children, and he always suspected she might be engaged in one-upmanship with his mother, but nevertheless he counted himself fortunate to be married to a woman who still went to such effort on her husband's birthday. Of course Laura's attempts at dissimulation were undermined by his inability to resist looking in her diary to find carefiilly compiled lists in neat black writing of potential presents, possible restaurants and surprise dinner guests. But Sam was good at feigning astonishment and he found Laura's transparency reassuring, proof of her certainty about where their life was heading. Today though was different. There had been no notes anywhere. No hints from their children about what their mother might have planned. No clues from friends. So when the babysitter arrived at ten o'clock in the morning greeting him with a knowing smile and Laura explained they were leaving the house for the rest of the day, he had allowed his imagination to run wild: this was going to be a