JAN FOSTER was born and raised in Leicestershire. She emigrated to Australia in 1954, and now lives in Victoria with her husband of more than fifty years.
In addition to raising four children, Jan has been a secretary, a librarian and a freelance journalist. As well as writing, Jan’s abiding passion is ballroom dancing for which she designs and makes most of her own clothes. For relaxation, she enjoys her garden and the occasional game of Mah-jong.
From her wardrobe she took out the suit she had bought for the occasion. Luckily, it was an ideal choice for the weather that day. A simply cut, oyster-coloured suit of pure silk with a deep roll collar. She laid it carefully on the king-size bed, then tossed her mink wrap and Chanel leather handbag alongside it.
She unzipped her housegown and shrugged it off, allowing it to fall to the floor, then stood looking critically at her reflection in the long cheval mirror. She turned from side to side, tightening her stomach and buttocks muscles, throwing back her shoul-ders to uplift her full, slightly drooping breasts.
“Yes, I promise. I will…. I will. Thanks for calling, Nick. Thanks for caring. ’bye darling. Give my love to Liz!” She smiled again at his parting words of good luck.
“Thank you, Nick,” she said quietly and with genuine feeling.
She replaced the receiver, but did not immediately remove her hand as she sat thinking about Nick and their very special relationship. At length she stood up. As she turned, she noticed the discarded newspaper lying strewn on the carpet and moved to tidy it up. As she reached down, her gaze riveted upon the face of the man in the photograph that stared up at her from the topmost page. She froze.