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Diverting her attention momentarily from the road, Tamsin smiled at me. I had seen that smile before; it was full of comfort and reassurance. Not that I needed to be reassured but life with Tamsin was full of surprises and it had become increasingly obvious to me that she felt she always needed to prepare me for the next one.

The last one had come the night before, at the close of our remarkable evening at Creatrice. She had informed me that we were to visit her grandmother at her home in the country to celebrate the old lady's birthday. Quite a contrast between a Gothic sex club in inner London to the cottage of a grand old dame in the English countryside.

Tamsin had told me very little about her grandmother except that she was called Ariadne and that this was her seventy-fifth birthday. That Ariadne had worked for the British government in the forties and fifties I managed to extract from Tamsin only with difficulty.

"Hmmm, Ariadne Thorne. Was she a secret agent working behind enemy lines?"

"I don't know," Tamsin laughed, "Why don't you wait and ask her yourself?"

"Or a code breaker at Bletchley Park perhaps?"

...

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