But there was a sense of relief too, at the prospect of returning to the office, of being back in the thick of it. Emsworth’s visits had been scarce in Russia, though he was in constant contact from London, checking in on any progress with an avid interest. Gabriela knew that for him to have chosen her to go out there at a time when tensions were so high, she must be regarded as a valuable member of the team. And yet, she had started to feel as if she was being wheeled out as a sort of PR representative rather than anything more meaningful. She had only seen Emsworth a couple of times since the episode in the bar – a meeting neither of them had mentioned since – and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being kept at arm’s length.

She shivered as she went to sit on the bench at the top of Primrose Hill, the city lights stretching out before them, punctuated by the tips of the cages at London Zoo. Tom stopped her from sitting, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a blanket, which he laid over the bench before directing her to sit.

Refraining from questioning the wisdom of laying a pale blue wool throw over a damp park bench, she watched him lean into the bag again and lift out a hot water bottle, giving it a squeeze. Satisfied, he placed it on her lap.

‘It’s still warm,’ he said triumphantly as he reached into the bag for the final time and retrieved a flask and a wedge of tin foil.

‘Ham or cheese?’ he asked, a look of self-satisfaction spreading across his face, and she smiled, hoping he wasn’t going to do what she already knew he would.

‘Either,’ she said, accepting a soggy triangle, taking a swig of coffee and brandy and appreciating the warmth of it moving through her body.

‘You’re not going to propose, are you?’ she asked, unable to stop herself, taking a bite and feeling immediately guilty as she watched his expression drop. So she had found his pain threshold, after all.

‘Oh Tom.’ She leaned forward and kissed him, before shifting closer.

‘Bloody hell, Gaby, talk about pissing on my bonfire.’

‘Babe, I’m sorry. You know I love you, I just … I don’t see the point.’

It was true, or maybe it wasn’t. She had seen the point as she watched Saoirse staring into Jim’s eyes at the registry office off Euston Road, the pair of them disappearing from the pub afterwards and returning with her hand locked in his, the top of Saoirse’s skirt tucked into her knickers. But for them?

‘It’s fine.’ He took the Thermos from her and drank, turning so that she couldn’t see his eyes shining with disappointment.