bottles of Pomerol which he had prudently brought with him from home, he felt relaxed enough to forget the irritations and frustrations of the day, and let his thoughts play idly over the amorous prospects for the night.
One of the two bedrooms was a double, and the other a twin. Jakki and Lionel, who had got inside the chalet first, had bagged the double. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Jakki had said, adding with a little smirk, ‘You can always push the singles together.’ ‘I don’t think we’ll bother,’ Winifred had said, which was unpromising. On the other hand, that was yesterday evening, after a drive made tedious by a long hold-up on the motorway and all the effort of unloading the cars and driving them back to the car park and walking back to their chalet, which seemed to be as far from the car park as it was possible to be within the confines of the perimeter fence. He and Winifred were both weary, retired early, and slept soundly under their duvets in the separate beds. But tonight, he thought, Winifred might be disposed to intimacy. Her nervous system would also have been flooded with endorphins released by exercise, she too would be experiencing the same transient but agreeable sense of well-being as himself, and it seemed to him that when their eyes met occasionally across the dinner table hers had a soft and inviting glow, and her smile a genuine warmth.
It was unfortunate, therefore, that it happened to be New Year’s Eve, so that when, after they had cleared the table and stacked the soiled dishes in the dishwasher (this appliance, Jakki emphasised, being a luxury exclusive to the executive villas, along with jacuzzi baths in the en suite bathrooms and a private sauna on the back porch), and had partaken of decaffeinated coffee or herbal tea, Desmond declared, with a covert wink at Winifred, that he felt pleasantly tired and ready for bed, Jakki and Lionel protested that this was out of the question, and insisted that they must all sit up and see the New Year in. And it was doubly unfortunate that Lionel had brought with him a bottle of single malt to, as he waggishly put it, ‘get the right spirit into us’.
It was only half-past ten when Desmond’s proposal was ruled out of order by Lionel and Jakki, a decision in which Winifred acquiesced (out of politeness, he suspected, rather than enthusiasm), and there was nothing to do until midnight except make desultory conversation and drink the single malt.Winifred did not like whisky, and Jakki’s consumption of the liquor was modest, so between them the men had accounted for about two-thirds of the bottle by the time Lionel switched on the television.The floodlit face of Big Ben, with its hands at seven minutes to twelve, filled the screen, and the camera tracked the movement of the minute hand with occasional cutaways to noisy expectant crowds in Trafalgar Square and other public spaces around the country, until at last the familiar bass notes boomed out. The crowds in the streets chanted the numbers - ‘one - two - three . . .’ - as the chimes sounded, and on the stroke of twelve erupted in cheers and yells and promiscuous embracing. Fireworks exploded over the Thames. The four of them rose to their feet - the two men somewhat unsteadily - and wished their partners a Happy New Year. Lionel engaged Jakki in a long, snogging kiss, and Desmond attempted something similar with Winifred but she quickly terminated it and averted her face. ‘Sorry darling, but you know I don’t like the smell of whisky,’ she said. ‘Then come to bed and I’ll kiss your other lips,’ he murmured into her ear, causing her to blush crimson and push him away. Lionel and Jakki at last unglued themselves and exchanged NewYear greetings with Winifred and Desmond. Lionel kissed Winifred respectfully on the cheek and Jakki kissed Desmond on the mouth, thrusting her tongue between his teeth and leaning back afterwards to laugh at his startled expression. ‘Happy New Year, Des!’ she said. ‘You can go to bed now.’
Once inside their bedroom he tried to undress Winifred, starting with the zip at the back of her dress, but she shook off his hand. ‘Stop, you’ll break it.’ ‘What’s the matter?’ he said. ‘Aren’t you in the mood for love?’ ‘No, I’m not,’ she said, stepping out of her dress and speaking in a low