His breathing was deep and regular, his shoulder gently rising and falling in rhythm with it. In the distance, a church bell struck one o’clock. Gingerly, she turned on to her back. She waited a moment, making sure she hadn’t disturbed him, then reached over the side of the bed and fished her T-shirt off the floor. She sat up, pulled it over her head then slid gently back down into the body-warmth. It was ridiculous, she thought, to be uncomfortable about Mark seeing her naked. He’d seen her naked hundreds of times, and just now – an hour or so ago – they’d made love like wild things, self-consciousness cast aside along with the clothes strewn across the carpet. It had come from relief, that rush of desire, the pure relief of him telling the truth, confirming what she’d discovered, not trying to hide anything or obfuscate. And he’d volunteered what he’d said about the B&B in the Berkshires and visiting Nick in jail, she hadn’t had to ask. Now she admitted it to herself: she’d been frightened that, confronted, Mark would try and bend the story, play down or deny his part in it.
