The Other Woman’s House by Sophie Hannah

degenerates. If we start now, it won’t take too long for it to become convincing – we might believe it by this evening if we’re lucky.’ Gibbs almost smiled, but didn’t move. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, according to Olivia’s phone. Her hotel room was as dark as it had been when they’d stumbled in here twelve hours ago. The black-out blinds and thick curtains were more serious about the preservation of night than any window-dressings Olivia had ever previously encountered, and had joined forces against the daylight.
    â€˜Don’t you have to get home at some point? Haven’t you got a life, plans, a curfew? I’ve got all three.’ She gave up pushing. It wasn’t going to work, and it was hurting her hands.
    Gibbs rolled onto his side so that he was facing her. It was funny: though she called him Chris, she could only think of him as Gibbs, which was what Simon called him. Would that change? Silently, she reprimanded herself for thinking about him in the future tense. She needed to pull herself together, but how could she, with him lying next to her, radiating heat?
    â€˜Trying to get rid of me?’ he asked.
    â€˜Yes, but…not in a bad way.’
    â€˜Is there a good way?’
    â€˜Of course. There are loads. There’s the self-sacrificing “cut me loose and save yourself while you still can” good way, and there’s…’ Olivia stopped, remembering that he’d comparedher to a Sunday colour supplement, and his reason for doing so. ‘We’ve got to be out by three o’clock,’ she said briskly, to disguise her embarrassment. ‘I can’t ring and ask for another extension.’
    â€˜What are the other good ways?’ Gibbs asked. Could he really be interested?
    She couldn’t tell him the truth. She’d just had sex with him, three times. If ever a situation called for the opposite of the truth, this was surely it.
    â€˜I’m going nowhere unless you tell me,’ he threatened.
    â€˜For God’s sake! All right, then, maybe this’ll do the trick where trying to push you out of bed failed. Another good way is: I need you to go so that I can spend the rest of the day thinking obsessively about all aspects of you, and going over your every word and action in my mind, to the exclusion of all else, for the foreseeable future.’
    Gibbs grinned. ‘It’ll be easier for you to think about me if I stay here.’
    â€˜Wrong. For as long as you’re here, I’ll be too busy wondering what you’re thinking to do any thinking myself.’
    â€˜I’m not thinking anything, apart from I want to fuck you again, but I’m too knackered.’
    â€˜Not listening, not listening!’ Olivia covered her ears with her hands. ‘Stop adding more words to the ones I already have to think about. I need to deal with the backlog. Don’t laugh – I’m being serious. Please just go. Don’t say anything else.’
    â€˜So that you can think about me?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜And about nothing else?’
    â€˜Not until I’ve cleared the backlog, no.’
    Gibbs nodded as if her request were entirely reasonable. Hesat up and started gathering his clothes together. Olivia looked at her phone again. Five past two. She felt excitement welling up inside her at the prospect of him leaving. There were things she needed to attend to, urgently. First on the agenda was the letting off of steam in an undignified manner: running in circles round the room screaming, ‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!’ Second was standing in front of the full-length mirror by the door and studying her face and body as if she’d never seen them before and never would again; trying to see them as Gibbs saw them, through his eyes. Then she would ring Charlie. Or rather, she would ring the caretaker at Los Delfines, the one whose number was on the website, and