The pleasure of seeing him was tinged with the guilt of the voyeur. She wondered again if she could get the software to ring out and attract his attention. He wouldn't be able to see or hear her because she did not have a video camera or microphone at her end, but they could have talked through the keyboard. Perhaps now that she knew he was up and about she could telephone him - but then she decided the call might wake the children so she rejected the idea.

He disappeared out of sight carrying his clothes with him but then shortly came back wearing a towel round his waist. He looked slim with good shoulder muscles and strong arms. His face appeared fatigued, though, greying at the hair-line and tense after a long day looking for work.

Then another figure came into view and efficiently started to turn down the bedspread revealing clean white sheets below. The motif 'JennyCare' was stitched to her simple checked grey overall. Her dark hair was tied back in a workmanlike bun. She looked young and pretty and in control. Turning to David she motioned towards the place she had made ready.

Sarah was wide awake now. Her attention riveted to the computer screen as David with a questioning sideways glance settled himself face down on the white sheet and then flinched as oil was dribbled in a long rivulet down his back.

"What is this", said Sarah, to his image on the screen. "You wouldn't be getting that if I was there."

'The JennyCare' as Sarah now renamed her, seemed to know what she was doing. She worked outwards from the centre of his back according to a program that was clearly well practised. She pressed hard, scouring the folds of flesh in waves to the edge of his body, and then returned to cover the same area again this time gently and caressingly, putting worked flesh gently back into its proper place.

David jumped when she started to work on his feet then relaxed again as the tension was smoothed out of the muscles one by one. Her well oiled fingers kneaded and probed their way onwards and upwards to the top of his legs and then in one continuous sweep that laid the towel completely aside moved on to his buttocks and thighs. From the way his mouth opened, Sarah could easily guess at the involuntary moans that it brought from David.

Then she had him turn over and with the towel mercifully back in place began to work on his chest and pectorals. David's eyes were closed. A look of contentment on his face. Tension and stress had been soothed away by the pressure of her hands. His mind calmed by her voice as she tended and worked the different parts of his body.

The massage now appeared to be finished and Sarah couldn't deny the benefit to David. He had his eyes open now and seemed to be responding to a question she had put to him. Whatever it was that he said, she smiled broadly and placed a finger against his lips to signify he had spoken enough.

Tracing her finger lightly down his chest to the towel, she looked teasingly back at him. Then the whiteness of the towel was replaced by an expanse of her jet black hair moving backwards and forwards where the towel had been and Sarah with a heart wrenching cry turned face down into the pillow.         

She never saw the end of it. By the time she had brought tear stained eyes back to focus on the computer screen, David who looked as if he had been to heaven and back was being tucked in. Then as he smiled his thanks, she disappeared out of sight and the room descended into darkness.

The next day dawned with the sun filtering down through the early morning Provencal air. Sarah stretched and yawned comfortably. Then remembered and the pain returned clubbing her down into a black pool of sadness.

She remembered that by two o'clock deep in the depths of anguish she had finally decided to divorce David. She would cite his affair with the programmer and how she had masqueraded as a home help and fight a custody battle that would ban him for ever from seeing the children.

By three o'clock she had persuaded herself that it was all her fault. If she had been there in her rightful place, it would never have happened.

Four o'clock brought exhausted realism and grudging acceptance. He was doing no more than she had, even if for different reasons. He couldn't know the sacrifices she was making. Through his job, he had worked just as hard for the family in his own way.

Perhaps he had deserved an indulgence. Losing his job would have put him at a low ebb. But it hurt deeply. The 'JennySlut', as Sarah had now renamed her, was young, attractive.

Grudgingly Sarah recognised it was unlikely at her age she would be a home breaker. Ambitious perhaps. Willing to go to any lengths. But, increasingly, that was the way of the 90s.

"Stay cool", she told herself. "Accept Tim's offer. Money creates options. Sort out your own business and then get back home and then put a bomb under the JennySlut. You don't need these problems at the moment. Look at what happened the last time you went home. You nearly had some very nasty people on your doorstep - you can't chance that again".

The memory of it was still vivid. The horrors those vicious thugs could have wreaked at home were too painful to contemplate. She hoped that a couple of weeks should clear her obligation to Tim Cruikshank. Then she could return and sort the JennySlut out. So, with a deep sigh, Sarah sent a message off to David via her computer in Weybridge to say she would be travelling around Europe for the next two weeks.

The good news was that she'd got a pay rise and would talk as soon as her feet touched the ground.

She put a P.S. that she hoped Jenny was getting on all right (hoping it would make him feel guilty) and sent a big kiss for the kids. Then nearly changed her mind, but forced herself to send the Email and to seal the decision. It was then nearly time to get up so she did.

She needed to organise a base from which to work. Tim Cruikshank solved this one over breakfast on the patio by the pool by offering her the use of his flat on Bayswater road. It was relatively close to Gower Street and had it's own entrance from a side road which kept it private.

Sarah was more decisive now. She had made her decisions. She now had a clear objective and everything else paled into insignificance. The tiny jet aeroplane arrived again and swiftly swept them up into the clear blue Provencal sky. The steady push of its acceleration against her back momentarily made her feel powerful and strengthened her resolve. Before she dropped off into a much needed light sleep, she wondered whether she would see the hobby horse again. The thought of it made her feel stronger and she felt a resurgence of confidence.

Anything was possible. It was up to her to make it happen.