A few hours later I was driving back to London with the window open, Dire Straits blaring, and a banging heart. I also had a huge smile on my face. Tommy had agreed we'd take it slowly, take it gently, this courtship, but with a huge smile on his face, too, and somehow, I knew he wouldn't.

“The thing is," I'd whispered earnestly, my head on his chest, wondering what on earth I was doing having sex in Belinda Bellingdon's best spare room at this particularly tragic moment in time, “the thing is, Tommy, it's obviously early days. Yes, we've known each other for years, but we haven't seen each other. I don't really know you."

“No, you're right." He contrived to look terrified. Inched away from me. "How chilling. I could be anyone. Who the heck are you?"

“Seriously, though, Tommy, let's not rush into anything, just because — you know."

"You've slept with me? Seduced me? While the whole house is in mourning?"

I covered my face in shame, moaned low, and slid under the duvet. He roared.

“Stop shouting," I hissed, popping my head up.

He composed himself with difficulty. “Tell you what," he said in a stage whisper, "I'll leave my calling card whenever I'm in town, which is about twice a year, and then we can perambulate around Regent's Park together taking the air. How's that?"

"Oh, for heaven's—"

“Too slow? OK, OK. So why don't we skip the formalities and ship you and your easel over to New York for a bit? You can paint a few pictures and have the whole Village at your feet, and then in no time at all we can move to Connecticut and have loads of children?"

"Well no, obviously that's out of the question—"

“So somewhere in between?"

"Ye-ess” I said, confused. “Somewhere in between."

"OK, I'm all ears. You run me through that little scenario." He locked his hands behind his head on the pillows and grinned cheerfully at me. "I leave on Tuesday, by the way."

"You do? Oh." I propped myself up a bit and frowned down at him. "And you're back?"

"In the fall. After Thanksgiving. Actually, maybe nearer Christmas."

"Oh." My face fell.

He rolled over on top of me and regarded me in delight. "You already know you're going to do it." He chortled. "You already know that for once, Flora Bellingdon, you're going to say, this isn't a rehearsal. I will follow this devastatingly handsome man with his spectacular sexual magnetism across the pond. I will walk across Central Park every day to the studio he's found me in SoHo. I will succumb to his irresistible charm."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous."

"You already know!" he said happily. "You will, you're in love with me."