Elizabeth Buchan’s beloved bestsellers, Revenge of the Middle-Aged Woman and The Good Wife Strikes Back , have made her an icon of upmarket women’s fiction. Taking her characteristic wit and emotional resonance to a new level, her latest novel focuses on two lives separated by forty years of history. In 1959, a forty-something married mother finds herself immersed in a surprisingly passionate affair with a younger man, while in the present, a professional woman faces a daunting choice between her blossoming career and her husband’s desire for children. Mirroring each other in surprising ways, these twin stories offer a deliciously readable funny and moving look at the battle of the sexes across time—and deliver another smart, nuanced novel for Elizabeth Buchan’s growing fans. "Honestly explores the difficulties of marriage . . . while at the same time depicting the difficult moments of motherhood along with the quiet joys.” — The Washington Post "We all have secret pleasures. For this reader, English author Elizabeth Buchan spells delight. What makes Buchan such a joy to read is her ability to take familiar material and probe it for new insights. For well-done domestic drama, there's only one writer for this reader: Elizabeth Buchan." — Dierdre Donahue , USA Today   Honestly explores the difficulties of marriage . . . while at the same time depicting the difficult moments of motherhood along with the quiet joys." The Washington Post "Elizabeth Buchan spells delight . . . For well-done domestic drama, there s only one writer for this reader." USA Today Elizabeth Buchan is the author of several highly acclaimed and bestselling books of fiction, including the bestselling Revenge of the Middle-Aged Woman , The Good Wife Strikes Back , Everything She Thought She Wanted , and Consider the Lily . Chapter Two: Siena I must have fallen asleep, for I found myself watching a dream television documentary about Bill and Lola's orchard. It had been transformed into an industrial factory field, patrolled by machine dragons. I was busy writing out headings in my notebook. Under 'Birdsong', I entered 'None'. Under 'Butterflies', 'None'. I added: 'No scutter of life in the grasses.; When I looked up at the trees they were hung with tidy, obedient, brightly coloured same-sized apples. Confused, I woke up, rolled across to Charlie and slid my arm, oh, so gently, round his waist. Instantly I knew he was awake. 'I think I was having a nightmare about GM apples,' I said. 'They all looked the same.' Silence. 'America's my big chance,' I said quietly. 'I might never get another. It will only be a one-off.' 'If it works,' Charlie murmured, 'it will not be a one-off.' A girl may dream. First series, third series...tenth series. Club and first class, weekends in the Hamptons, interesting people, interesting ideas, a new look at a different set-up...So many possibilities were scrambling to take up residence in my head. 'It's difficult to turn down such an offer.' 'Yup,' he agreed, with the same controlled articulation, but he was not agreeing. 'You wouldn't pass it up.' 'OK, Siena,' he said quietly. 'How do we resolve this?' More silence. Charlie has learnt the art of holding silence in court, silences filled with more meaning than any words, but I was not so good at them. 'When do we have children, Siena, when do you think?' 'Charlie, as soon as there's a gap in my schedule, then we can have a try. I'm so sorry but a book, an idea, a programme, a project, has come up...The magazine wants a weekly column, not a monthly...I must concentrate on that.' 'Siena, time is ticking past...' 'I promise to think about it.' Did he believe me? Probably not, for I had ducked and woven so often through the aforementioned thickets. Charlie sat up in bed and switched on the light. He cupped my cheek in his hand. 'Do you mind me pointing out that you will be thirty-six next birthday?' 'Ouch.' He reached for the glass by the bed and took a sip. I imagined the water trickling down his throat to a stomach churned by our late-night conversation. 'Charlie, I don’t want to lose all the ground I've made.' 'But you'll gain,' he said, and stroked my cheek. 'You'll be a beautiful, wonderful mother.' A flicker of impatience shocked me. That kind of thing was so easy to say — and took no account of my instinctive cowardice. I drew a deep breath. 'I'm frightened, Charlie.' 'But I'm here.' He put down the glass and sent me a grin: so wry, it was almost bitter, definitely mocking and...boyish. Like the son he craved. All I wanted was to make Charlie happy, which seemed simple enough. Except that it wasn't. He bent over me, trying for the hundredth time to find out what held me back, trying to understand. 'Do you know what I think, Siena?' 'You're going to tell me.' 'I think men are the new women. It's one of the by-products and ironies of feminism.' Joke. My hand trembled a little as I turned off the light. The bedroom was plunged into darkness. Charli