"A perfect English rose", he'd said. Then he'd hugged her again and she'd gasped for air and felt ready to die for him.

Always a trusting and affectionate husband, he'd accepted her lie without question. Right now he'd be collecting their children from school two and a half-hours away in suburban London thinking she was with her mother in Yorkshire.

But, instead, Sarah was here in Somerset for a weekend rendezvous with a man she'd met in London's Hyde Park less than six weeks ago.

She remembered how nervous she'd felt as she'd crossed the newly cut grass to the green wooden bench where he was seated.

"Do you mind if I sit down?"

He glanced up from his lunch and briefcase as if resenting the intrusion. "No, of course not, you're very welcome".

His acceptance was non-committal and he'd immediately turned back to his reading and sandwiches. A neatly ordered man sitting in a neatly ordered park garden, getting on with his neatly ordered work. Self contained in his dark suit and sleeked back dark hair.

"How I'd hate even to sit opposite him at a dinner party", Sarah had thought grimly.

The computer printout on his knee hinted at his occupation and conflicted with his round jovial face that seemed more appropriate to a farmer or a grocer. He looked quiet and industrious - and not at all likely to start a conversation.

Seating herself carefully on the bench, she extracted some documents together with a sandwich in cling film from her own case and placed them on her knee. She bit into the sandwich and uncharacteristically for her, waited patiently.

She did not have to wait long. A gust of wind spread ripples across the water of the Serpentine, rustled the nearby bushes and pushed Sarah's hair across her face. As she reached up to push her hair back, the word processed documents on her knees flipped upwards and in a neatly disordered flight deluged into his lap.

"Oops", said Sarah.

The speed of his reactions was faster than she had anticipated. Perhaps he hadn't been so immersed in his work.

"It's OK, I've got them." He flattened his hands on his lap to hold the sheets under control.

Sliding across the bench so she was seated next to him, she gingerly extracted the sheets from under his fingers. He looked up at her with a slight start as their fingers touched.