Taking in a long, steadying breath, Jackie closed her eyes and concentrated on locking those bad thoughts away. She cast her mind back over the past few days and realized that since boarding the Eurostar at Waterloo Station, she had neither been stressed nor bad-tempered. She had had no reason to be, or what was maybe more accurate, nobody had given her reason to be.

Yet she hadn’t been by herself, had she? When Stephen had first suggested that he come with her to Paris, her immediate reaction had been to put him off the idea. She had wanted to be free from male company, to do her own thing without having to make the effort of conversing with another man. But she had realized soon after their arrival in Paris that the disruption at home and the possible problems that she thought might arise during her visit had left her feeling quite vulnerable and unsure as to whether she would be able to cope. Over the course of the weekend, Stephen had proved himself to be a true friend and a wonderful support, and being in the company of someone so much younger than herself and without having the burden of her family weighing constantly on her mind had made her feel enlivened and youthful and carefree.

That day, having wrapped up their workload by noon, they had enjoyed a prolonged lunch together in one of the small restaurants below the steps of Sacré Coeur, where cars rattled at speed along the cobbled street. The waiter, dressed in a starched white ankle-length apron, served the six tables with an unquestioning attentiveness, and although Jackie had tried to banish the idea from her mind, she could not help but sense a notion of illicit romance about them being together, tucked away in the little backstreet restaurant, with the warming flow of red wine in her throat and the lingering tang of garlic on her tastebuds. As she and Stephen had laughed together across the table, she had had a momentary pang of guilt, thinking that if she had made the trip with Dan, maybe it would have been beneficial to their relationship. But even that one fleeting thought had pervaded her being with a shivering anxiety and she had dismissed it immediately, determined to free herself of reality for as long as their trip lasted.

A rhythmic knock on her bedroom door broke her away from her thoughts. She closed the window and walked across to the door and opened it. Stephen stood outside in the corridor, a grin on his face and a bottle of champagne and two glasses in his hands. He raised them up, a questioning slant on his mouth.

“How about a bit of a celebration?”

Jackie leaned a hand against the door, a barrier against his entry. “I thought that’s what we were doing at lunchtime.”

“This one’s on me,” he said, sidling his way past her into the bedroom.