‘I adore those shoes. I would do anything to get my hands on those shoes’, she clutched his hand, pressing her breasts against his arm.

He peered through thick lensed glasses uncertain what he was supposed to be looking at. ‘Which one’s?’

‘The pink one’s silly. You know how much I like pink.’

He peered again, confused by reflections in the glass of the shop window, looking for pink in the mountain of colourful footwear. ‘Ahhh’, he sighed. They were ridiculously high heeled, ridiculously pink and wildly expensive. ‘I imagine they must be real diamonds studding the heel.’

She giggled. He couldn’t resist her when she giggled.

‘Can you imagine me wearing those. Just those. And maybe the white stockings…’ She giggled again.

He licked his lips looking at her reflection in the window, so tiny and colourful against the bulk of his cashmere overcoat.

‘You would break your neck trying to walk in them,’ he said.

‘I don’t plan on walking far, Darling. Just the shoe closet to the bed. They’re for screwing in, not running marathons.’

‘So tell me,’ he grinned, ‘just how much do you want these shoes?’

‘I repeat. I would do anything for those shoes.’

‘Anything?’

‘Anything Darling. Of course, I would need the accessories too.’

‘Accessories?’

‘Do you remember that pink convertible in the Cadilac showroom…?’