‘Dinner’s on me, though,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll have a pint of Carter’s Gold cider, please.’

‘Getting into the West Country way of drinking, I see,’ Holly remarked.

The bartender came over and she ordered the cider for Charlie and a Wicked Wolf gin and tonic for herself. Known as ‘The Spirit of Exmoor’, it was brewed a few miles away but embodied all of the flavours of the famous Somerset hills. Holly was a wine drinker, generally, but she felt in need of something a little stronger as an aperitif to clear her palate and chase away the lingering tiredness after a hectic weekend.

As they settled at a cosy table in the corner of the bar, tucked to one side of the huge inglenook fireplace that took up most of the side wall, Charlie perused the menu. ‘I’m starving,’ he announced.

‘Well, you’ve worked off a lot of calories, with the walk up the hill and… other things,’ Holly smiled.

Charlie groaned. ‘I really don’t want to have to go back to London tomorrow. Can’t I throw a sickie and stay here with you instead?’

Holly simulated shock. ‘Mr Thorpe! What would your constituents think?’

‘Well, you’re one of them; what do you think?’ Charlie asked playfully, taking one of Holly’s hands in his and turning it over. He tickled the pulse point in her wrist with his fingertips. Holly was reminded of where else those sensitive but expert fingers had made her tingle, and she felt her heart beating faster.

‘Behave,’ she murmured. ‘We both need to eat or neither of us will be fit for anything.’

A little time later, they were both tucking into plates of steak and kidney pie, mash and peas (mostly locally sourced and absolutely delicious), and feeling more fortified. Charlie had ordered a bottle of red wine to go with their meal, and it was going down very nicely.

‘This is exactly what I needed,’ Charlie said as he put his knife and fork together, having polished off his entire plate. His eyes sparkled in the low light of the bar. ‘I almost feel like I can face another week at the coalface now.’

Holly snorted. ‘Don’t let your opposition hear you calling it that.’

‘Fair point,’ Charlie replied. He glanced at his watch. ‘I should be getting the train back in about an hour.’ Willowbury station had been reopened around ten years previously as an experiment into reconnecting some of the smaller towns in Somerset to the mainline between Taunton and Bristol Temple Meads. It had worked wonders for the job prospects of local people, and been a boost to the local economy as well, bringing in tourists to the town and increasing the trade of businesses such as Holly’s. Holly, of course, was hugely in favour of anything that got more cars off the road, and the increase in trade was a definite bonus.