For whatever reason, Gilly was not enjoying Leo’s company as much as usual. Previously she had revelled in the sound of his voice – it was beautifully modulated – and he was extremely well read and full of information about (it seemed) everything from gardening to ancient Greek literature and everything else in between. She knew she didn’t always listen to what he was saying and just let his voice wash over her. But now she was paying attention, waiting for a suitable gap for her to say something.

‘Would you like some more?’ she asked eventually, after a brief lecture on the life and works of Gustav Klimt which they would see when they went to Vienna.

He patted his stomach, currently covered in very fine wool tailoring. He cared a lot about his clothes and while Gilly liked clothes too, she did wonder at his choice of tie sometimes. Now was one of those times; the pattern was a bit too busy for her. ‘Just a soupçon more would be lovely. I should probably decline as I’m sure you’ve got a wonderfully rich chocolate pudding for afterwards but my greed has got the better of me.’

While Gilly was in the kitchen refilling his plate she wondered if it was greed that had got him into trouble before. She also worried that he’d be disappointed by the pudding even though she’d taken such care to remove the pith from the oranges and had been liberal with the Grand Marnier. The caramel was perfect too. So often people didn’t cook the sugar for long enough, in Gilly’s opinion, so you didn’t get the proper caramel taste. Aware she was spending longer in the kitchen than was strictly necessary, she took Leo’s plate back through to the sitting room, the heated-up jus in a separate jug.

‘You are the most amazing cook,’ said Leo, gazing fondly at her. ‘And yet somehow you’ve managed to maintain your good figure. You’re not super-slim, of course, but still perfectly presentable. Figure-wise,’ he added quickly, possibly feeling Gilly stiffen at this faint praise.

‘Thank you,’ she said, not sure if she was thanking him for his praise for her cooking or her ‘perfectly presentable’ figure.

She watched him eat, wondering if his rather flamboyant eating style would begin to grate on her eventually. She’d once known a woman who’d ended a relationship because she couldn’t bear the way her beloved ate boiled eggs. And as her mind strayed into irrelevant thoughts and memories she wondered if they were all because Helena had put doubt in her mind.

‘So, dear Gilly …’ He put a well-manicured hand on hers. ‘What cocoa- and cholesterol-filled delight have you in store for us?’