"That was fantastic, Victoria. Even Victor would have difficulty topping that." Susan and Nigel sat across from one another, looking around the candles, which had mysteriously reappeared. Victoria sat at one end.

"Praise indeed," Victoria acquiesced. "Have some more wine, dear. Nigel, pour Susan some more wine."

"Not too much, I'm driving don't forget."

"Tut, tut, we still have dessert to come. That little bit won't bother you at all." Victoria raised her own glass and sipped in example.

"Oh gosh, dessert." Susan patted her stomach and blushed. "I'll have to diet after this."

Victoria waved a dismissing hand. "Fiddlesticks. Any diet would be jealous of a figure like yours. Right, Nigel?"

"Uhm, yes- I mean..." He flicked his aunt a nasty look.

"Now don't embarrass Nigel, Victoria." Susan delivered a cat-like grin across the table, slipping off one shoe and sliding her foot up his leg.

"Ahhoo!" He started abruptly, jerking his feet back. "Why uh, why don't I clear the table and—"

"No, no. You two just sit here and have a little chat, I have to get dessert anyway." Victoria stood and began gathering the plates. Nigel looked bleakly at the grinning Susan.

Out in the kitchen, Victoria paused, listening for sounds in the dining room, and punching her fist in the air when she heard Nigel's hissing protests.

"Susan, for God's sake—" She had slipped down in the chair and was exploring his thighs with wiggling toes. Nigel tried backing away, but the buffet blocked his retreat, and he grabbed her foot to still its progress. Susan moaned softly, closing her eyes and pouting her full lips. The silky feel of her foot beneath her hose sent a shiver up his back, and in trying to repel the advance, the inadvertent massage only stimulated her efforts.

"Susan!"

"Here we go," Victoria announced, returning with a towering strawberry shortcake, smothered in whipped cream. She discretely ignored the sudden appearance of Nigel's hands on the table, and Susan, straightening herself in the chair. "Now, who wants a big piece?"

The meal finished without further activity on Susan's part, and they cleared the table, cleaned up the kitchen, and retired to the garden for coffee. Nigel chose the safety of the patio table, leaving the lounges to the two women. The sun's departure left the sky along the horizon with an apricot hue, and the garden became enveloped in a velvety blackness that made their faces hard to see.

They chatted about the stars and the remarkable weather, and a smattering of other inoffensive subjects, until Victoria announced she was going to bed, leaving them to have their little talk.

"Come over here so I don't have to shout," Susan said, after Victoria had gone.

"I'll be the one shouting if I come over there." He complained.

"Oh don't be so silly. You asked me a question the other day, and I said I would tell you—so come on." She patted the cushions of the lounge beside her.

Reluctantly, he moved to the lounge, setting the back in an upright position, sitting prissily, and crossing his feet. The gleam of her dark stockings in the moonlight drew his eyes up their length to the hem of the tight skirt, resting mid-thigh. This was a mistake—he chastised himself—a big mistake.

"You asked me how I could love a man- Victor, whose life was ruled by ghosts." Her voice was soft and musical. "The truth is, I don't."

"Then why—?"

"It was arranged." Nigel sat up, turning sideways on the lounge, and faced her, searching the shadows for her eyes.

"Arranged? Susan, this is the twenty-first century! People don't have arranged marriages any more!"

"In my culture they do." Her voice sounded sad, and he thought he spotted the glitter of a small tear.

"But surely you could- what would happen if you just walked away? I mean, what could anyone do?" He leaned closer, picking out the whites of her large eyes.

"My family would lose face, and I would be disowned." He could feel her breath lightly on his chin and the hiss of nylon as she drew one knee up.

"Where is your family, now?" He asked, trying to understand while distracted by the rustling sigh.

"They never came over. My parents are dead now."

Nigel blinked, staring past her lounge into the dark grass. "Dead? Then what the devil does it matter? How could you be disowned?"

"I told you it was a cultural thing... you wouldn't understand."

"I'm trying to," he said, exasperation creeping into his voice, "but I just—"

Her hand came fast up behind his head and pulled his face down to hers. Instinctively, Nigel's arms sought balance as he toppled forward, one clutching the edge of the lounge cushion, the other landing on her thigh, sliding down the silky slope of her raised leg, and onto her hip.

It registered immediately that this wasn't one of her familiar guerrilla assaults; the marshmallow softness of her mouth melding tenderly against his own, a sliver of delicate tongue tracing the inside of his lips. Nigel sank to his knees beside the lounge, adjusting his position and gradually letting the full weight of his body down upon hers, losing himself in the growing passion of the kiss.

Susan tiptoed out of the bathroom and down to where Nigel waited at the bottom of the stairs. He took her hand, holding a finger to his lips, and led her out the front door and down onto the drive. A half-eaten moon ducked behind a bank of dark clouds and a cool breeze flowed across the roof of her car.

"I'm so glad we talked, Nigel." She leaned into him, eyes wide, lips parted slightly.

"Yes, well, it's a conversation I certainly won't forget for some time." He held her by the waist, feeling the swell of her rump just below his fingers.

"Do you understand me any better now?"

He looked up as the moon risked a brief peek. "I don't know about understanding, but I certainly know you better." His smile was lost in the blackness.

"Oh Nigel..." Her mouth found his again, and he turned her back to the car, crunching against her.

He gave a slight wave, watching the rear lights flash briefly as she drove around the corner and out of sight. His lips felt puffy, and he ran his tongue over them tasting the lingering flavour of her kiss. Slowly he walked up the steps and let himself in the front door, locking it and sneaking quietly up the stairs and down the hall to his room.

"Night nephew. Very sweet dreams!"