Kitty Coleman

I woke this morning with a stranger in my bed. The head of blond hair besideme was decidedly not my husband's. I did not know whether to be shocked oramused. Well, I thought, here's a novel way to begin the new century.

Then I remembered the evening before and felt rather sick. I wondered whereRichard was in this huge house and how we were meant to swap back. Everyoneelse here—the man beside me included—was far more experienced in themechanics of these matters than I. Than we. Much as Richard bluffed lastnight, he was just as much in the dark as me, though he was more keen. Muchmore keen. It made me wonder.

I nudged the sleeper with my elbow, gently at first and then harder until atlast he woke with a snort.

"Out you go," I said. And he did, without a murmur. Thankfully he didn't tryto kiss me. How I stood that beard last night I'll never remember—the clarethelped, I suppose. My cheeks are red with scratches.

When Richard came in a few minutes later, clutching his clothes in a bundle,I could barely look at him. I was embarrassed, and angry too—angry that Ishould feel embarrassed and yet not expect him to feel so as well. It wasall the more infuriating that he simply kissed me, said, "Hello, darling,"and began to dress, I could smell her perfume on his neck.

Yet I could say nothing. As I myself have so often said, I am open minded—Ipride myself on it. Those words bitenow.

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