The M6 was a mess. Freezing fog had caused a multi-vehicle crash. No fatalities, luckily, but Robyn had been stuck in a 10-mile tailback and was now over 3 hours behind schedule. There was no way she’d reach Glasgow before midnight.

By 9pm she gave up, pulled off the motorway and drove to the nearest village, hoping to find a room for the night.

On the high street she spotted a pub advertising en-suite rooms with breakfast, so she turned into the car park and climbed out of her car.

Sighing, she stretched her back, rueing the decision to use her Vantage instead of her Bentley. The Vantage is going to be awesome driving along the Scottish b-roads tomorrow, but it’s not so good if you’re sat in a traffic jam for 3 hours.

The pub was warm and cozy, with a real wood fire on the wall opposite the bar. After hearing Robyn’s tale of highway woe, the landlady, Denise, gave her a king-size room for the price of a single.

After pocketing her room key, Robyn realised she was very hungry, so she checked the menu. The chicken in honey and white wine sauce sounded perfect, so did the buy one get one free offer on Pinot Grigio.

After her hearty meal, Robyn said goodnight to Denise and the half-dozen locals she’d been chatting to, picked up her overnight bag and the 2nd glass of wine, and headed for the stairs to her room.

The room was surprisingly spacious, she guessed it was directly above the table she’d just vacated, she touched the wall by the bed, it was warm from the chimney, lovely.

The bed was amazing, an oak four-poster with thick curtains bunched on each post with a length of gold velvet rope. She pressed against the mattress, phew, it wasn’t an old-school straw and horsehair mattress from the period; the owner had replaced it with a modern sprung mattress.

At the end of the bed was a bay window with a French-style dressing table and mirror. Pulling back the curtains, she could make out a church at the end of the road, and beyond the church, was that a small park ... no, probably a cemetery, with it being next to a church.

It was probably a lovely place to live, but she thought that every time she stayed in a small town or village. She could easily afford to buy a large house in a small village, but she just knew she’d go stir crazy within weeks, missing the bustle and noise of the city, missing her gym buddies and missing the fancy bars and restaurants ... one day though, she would grow tired of the hustle and bustle ... and when that day comes, she hopes places like this are still as quiet and peaceful.

The bath was a roll-top free-standing model in the corner of the bedroom, separated from the sleeping quarters by a low screen. She poured in some bubble-bath and set the taps running, then dashed downstairs for another glass of the excellent Pinot Grigio; it was still on offer, so she carefully carried two very full glasses slowly back to her room, where the bath was about ⅔ full. She placed a glass by the bed, the other in the bath tray, then shut off the taps.

Robyn stripped in front of the wall mirror, she turned side on, checking out her profile, then back towards the mirror.

No matter how hard she looked, how critically she appraised her reflection, she couldn’t see why her ex-husband had cheated on her with that bimbo.

She was 30 years old, which most people would agree is still in the middle of her prime years.

Her tummy was flat ... although perhaps she shouldn’t have eaten all the chicken, or the apple pie that followed ... her breasts were still big, still full, and still supported themselves when she wanted to wear a dress that wouldn’t accommodate a bra.

Her hair, naturally a rich auburn, was currently a metallic silver grey, and expensively cut to mid-shoulder length The expense came from finding someone who could bring back her natural waves that had been lost through many years of abuse wrought by weekly bleaching and dyeing.

She’d had no children, so her pussy was still wonderfully tight.

Damn, she was so fine she would happily date herself ... which reminded her, she really needed to drop Anni a message. She looked so much like Anni they could be sisters, which added a little incestual spice to their occasional love making.

She really shouldn’t keep dwelling on it, especially seeing as her lawyer worked miracles, relieving David of his biggest house, half his money, and her two favourites from his garage.

She had a high 9-figure sum in the bank and an 8-figure annual income from her investments, which was nice, but not as nice as the fact the bimbo dumped him when she found out he was married.

Robyn slipped into the bath, the bubbles reached her chin, like she was sitting in a cloud.

She sipped her wine, while her free hand slid down to her pussy. There’s something wonderfully decadent about sitting in a hot bath, leisurely masturbating while enjoying a glass of good wine.

She climbed out once the water cooled, drying herself with a big fluffy towel, before she climbed into bed and reached for the TV remote. There must be a late-night trashy movie somewhere on the TV for her to watch.

Damn, no signal on the TV, must be the weather she sighed, tossing the remote away and reaching for her iPad.

Damn, no WiFi, she sighed as she remembered the sign behind the bar advising patrons to talk to each other instead of scrolling through their phones.

Not ready for sleep just yet, she contemplated reading through the papers for tomorrow’s meeting for precisely one second before opening her Kindle app and scrolling through her reading list. She was in the middle of a Sally Rooney book, but she wasn’t in the mood, so she scrolled back in time to the selection of trashy romance stories she downloaded as a teenager and, opening one at random, she set it to autoscroll and slid her free-hand under the duvet.

Robyn looked up as she heard a key in the lock.

“Oh sorry, looks like there’s been a double booking...” the man said as he saw Robyn in the bed, “I’ll go back to the bar and get a different key.”

The man looked to be in his early 40’s, he was tall, slim, wearing a pair of beige chinos and a brown leather jacket that looked shabby but probably cost about a grand.

“Don’t go...” Robyn whispered, “this bed is way too big for one.”

“Maybe that’s why Denise gave me this key, she thought you’d be lonely.”

“She’s very perceptive.”

The man pushed the door closed and stepped fully into the room as Robyn slid out from under the thick duvet, standing naked before this handsome stranger.

“Hi, I’m Robyn,” she announced, holding out her hand.

The man took her hand, holding it tenderly, “Hello Robyn, I’m Joe, and I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“Would you like a coffee ... or something stronger, maybe ... although you have more clothes on than me, so you’ll have to get that from the bar yourself...”

“I had a couple of pints downstairs, I came up here to sleep.”

“Well, I’m not going to stop you,” Robyn replied in a sultry whisper, “come and join me whenever you’re ready,” she added, sliding back under the duvet.

Joe slipped out of his jacket and placed it carefully over the back of the chair by the dressing table. Under the jacket he was wearing a purple Ralph Lauren polo-shirt, as he pulled it over his head, Robyn marvelled at his chest, he was well toned, a good tan, from the sun, not a sunbed, a smattering of dark chest hair.

He folded the polo-shirt carefully on the chair, before bending to unlace his shoes. Robyn was something of a shoe expert, even mens shoes, and these looked very much like Church’s and almost certainly cost as much as most of her Italian shoes - but Joe probably wore his shoes every day for many years, her shoes were worn once, or maybe twice if there was little chance of meeting someone who’d already seen them.

“What’s so funny?” Joe asked as he placed his silk socks inside his shoes.

“I’m just thinking about my life,” she replied, before wondering if she was really going to tell her life story to a man she met two minutes ago, “When I was a kid, mum didn’t have much money, she bought my shoes from charity shops. One day my shoes fell apart at school and my teacher took me to the Tech workshops and someone glued the sole back on. I was mortified. Things are different now, a quick estimate would suggest I have over £100,000 worth of shoes in the wardrobe at my Manchester apartment. I dread to think about the shoes I have in Mayfair; I bought those when I was going through my divorce, I’ve probably worn 10% of them...”

“I have three pairs of shoes,” Joe replied, “these are my work shoes, I have a pair of Doc Martens for going to the pub and football, and a pair of walking boots for taking the dog to the beach.”