As she spoke, she was struck by a flash of memory and she pictured herself at Callum’s age, in the foyer of the Holloway Odeon, the stained blood-red carpet beneath her feet as she picked out hardened bananas and sugary shrimps with plastic tongs, her mother’s distracted fingers on Gabriela’s forearm indicating that she’d had enough.

Callum didn’t look away. ‘OK.’

There was something about the stoicism in his expression that wrung her heart. She tightened her arms around him.

Chapter 37

Gabriela

‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’

Ivan ran his fingers gently through her hair and instinctively she flinched, moving away slightly, though they were concealed behind the wall in their usual spot at Davy’s, away from prying eyes.

‘I’ve got a few days off,’ she lied.

‘You have?’ A smile stretched across his face. ‘Why didn’t you say so?’

She shrugged, not understanding the significance of what she had suggested.

‘Let’s go somewhere,’ Ivan said, standing suddenly.

‘We are somewhere,’ she smiled quizzically. ‘We’re here, and I’m enjoying this G and T if you don’t mind …’

He held out his hand. ‘Come on, we’ll get another drink while we’re on our way.’

‘On our way where?’

‘Do you always ask this many questions?’

‘Do you always work so hard to avoid the answer?’

As they walked up the stairs onto the street, she placed the sunglasses on her face, pulling down the wide-brimmed hat on her head. On Pall Mall, Ivan hailed a taxi.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, and he remained on the street, leaning into the cab.

‘You’re going home to get your passport. Meet me at St Pancras in two hours.’

‘What—’

He slammed the door and pointed to his watch. ‘I need to go and get my things but I’ll be there in two hours, waiting. Don’t let me down.’

It wasn’t like her to relinquish control and yet the excitement fizzled through her as she made her way through the crowds at St Pancras, following the signs to the Eurostar.

Ivan was waiting by the desk and he kissed her gently on the cheek as she reached him. She tried to look formal as they moved together through passport control, in case of being spotted. He was carrying an overnight bag and she imagined him having rushed back to his part of the city from central London, packing his overnight things while the taxi waited outside, the meter running.

She had paused in front of her wardrobe, an exhilarated panic enveloping her as she picked out her underwear, rummaging behind the faded cotton pants and the bras with slightly warped underwiring from years of wear, towards the back of the drawer and the satin matching pairs she’d picked out in the shops a few days earlier, just awaiting the right occasion.