I came away from lunch with Valerie with mixed emotions. Was I shocked? Not really. This, after all, wasn't some behind-the-times country village; this was 21st Century fashionable Hampstead where supposedly unorthodox relationships weren't uncommon. What were once regarded as bedroom secrets have become dinner party small talk. So, no, I wasn't shocked. I admit, though, I was surprised. Valerie was forty-two. She had been my closest friend for so long I'm not sure I can even recall how we first met. Over our monthly lunches we often exchanged confidences about our personal lives but this was the first time Valerie had invoked our friendship in order to make a request of this nature. She said she had deliberated for some time before asking, and she acknowledged that I would probably want to think it over before replying. "Call me," she said. "At the week-end." And then, clearly embarrassed, she changed the subject.nnThe first thing I had to decide was whether I was inclined to go along with what she was asking. The answer was a cautious yes. It wasn't my scene but I knew I was tempted. The real question was how I would tell David. Or would I tell him at all? In the end, that became the only solution I could contemplate.