‘Imagine a big kitchen downstairs, opening out on to the courtyard garden.’

‘I’m doing that. It’s huge!’

‘Yes, too huge for one person, which is why I’ve never done it.’

‘Have you had this house long?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. I bought it about twenty years ago – it was derelict. I had a small legacy that helped with the deposit. The rent for the shop covered the mortgage.’

‘You’re telling me very clearly that you own this house,’ she said. ‘Because …’

‘Because of what that scoundrel Leo did, implying he owned a house he rented.’

‘I love the word “scoundrel” – it’s so charmingly old-fashioned.’

‘I am charmingly old-fashioned,’ said William.

Gilly laughed. She was beginning to relax a bit. She wandered around this amazing flat and tried to picture herself in it.

She would like being near the shops. She’d love to be within walking distance of nice restaurants. But how would she cope without her B & B guests? She needed work – not just for money but because she believed work was good for people. She went into the kitchen which was at the back and looked down at the courtyard garden. She could see Ulysses there, possibly curled up on top of one of the stone sinks, crushing the succulents or auriculas or whatever was growing there.

‘So,’ said William, who had let her roam about and explore. ‘Could you live here?’

She sighed and bit her lip.

‘If I was to offer you my heart and my home, so to speak. I mean, if you took my home and didn’t want my heart I would have to find somewhere else to live.’

She managed a laugh.

‘And I’m thinking that we will have to decide if we want to live together or carry on as we are.’ He looked at her with a mixture of seriousness and gentle humour. ‘How do you feel about it? I know it’s awfully soon to think about these things but I feel I’ve wasted enough of my life hoping you’d have a problem with your VAT so you’d come and see me. I want you there every day. Greedy though it sounds.’

She considered her answer. It was a big step and very early days and yet somehow she felt ready to face it. ‘I do always feel sad when you go home in the morning.’

‘So do I.’

‘But although this is a really lovely house – flat – whatever – I’m not sure it’s quite for me. The thing is, could you live in my house? I mean, I feel I’m asking you to choose between an amazing, prize-winning racehorse and a big, clumsy old Clydesdale with feet the size of dinner plates, hairy fetlocks, a head the size of a small child, which, however well groomed and polished, will always be a bit of a lump.’