Ivy flushed as she looked down at the stains on the knees of her skirt, wishing that the ground would just open up and swallow her.

‘Yes, thanks … I wasn’t lookin’ where I was goin’. Serves meself right, don’t it?’

She glanced at the palms of her hands but managed to keep her smile in place as he took her folder and carefully placed the paperwork inside it before handing it back to her.

‘You look a bit shaken up,’ he said, clearly concerned. ‘Look, there’s a café just along here. Let me buy you a cup of tea.’

Ivy opened her mouth to refuse but there was something about him that made her think again and so she nodded. ‘That would be nice, thank you.’

He took her elbow and steered her along the pavement as if he was afraid she might fall again and Ivy felt a tingle run up her arm, it was nice to feel protected.

Once in the café he found them a table and when he went up to the counter to order their drinks she took the opportunity to have a good look at him. She had already noticed that he was very well spoken and now she saw that he stood a head above her and his clothes were of good quality, although they looked a little worn. He had a thatch of springy dark hair and his eyes were a wonderful tawny colour. He was lean but well muscled and Ivy felt her heart do a little flip. She had never felt like this about any man before and couldn’t quite understand her feelings. But she had no time to ponder because seconds later he was back bearing two steaming mugs, one of which he placed in front of her.

‘My mother always said that hot, sweet tea is good for shock.’ His eyes were smiling as he measured two heaped teaspoonfuls of sugar into hers and gave it a good stir.

‘Thank you.’ Ivy did feel a little shaken, but after taking a few sips she began to feel a better.

‘So are you from round here?’ he asked, seemingly genuinely interested and again Ivy felt herself flush.

‘Y-yes, I live above a clothes shop with my friend in Cavendish Street. We share a little flat. I … I’m Ivy, by the way. Ivy Massey.’

‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Massey,’ he answered, holding out his hand. ‘Although I would rather it could have been under less distressing circumstances. I’m Jeremy Pilkington-Hughes. I live here too, or what I should say is I lodge here, my parents have a country estate in Berkshire but my work keeps me in the capital. I’m a journalist.’

‘Oh!’ Ivy gulped. A country estate, she had thought he was posh and now he had confirmed it.

‘And may I ask what you do for a living?’

Somehow Ivy didn’t want him to know that she worked in a match factory so she merely skirted around the truth and said, ‘Actually I’m training for an office job. That’s where I was coming from when I fell, one of my evening courses.’