‘His name is Omid Navabi. From things he’s said, I think he’s from Iran. Sometimes his stuff is a bit wack but it’s always interesting.’

Down a narrow side street, at an anonymous door, we were buzzed in and went to the first floor. Mr Navabi was a handsome, suave, well-tailored twinkler. ‘Nicholas, my old friend, come in. And the famous Rachel, how are you enjoying the Minerva bracelet? I can offer you orxata? Vermut?’

The showroom was styled like an apartment straight out of Mad Men—no wonder Quin loved it here. There were Knoll sofas, a peekaboo coffee table, a modern piano in rosewood and lamps so gorgeous I wanted to buy them all.

A louche drinks cart featured a sleek rounded whiskey decanter and matching tumblers. Atop a sectional sideboard was a chrome-and-walnut cigarette dispenser.

On a wall of open shelving were all kinds of charming, probably useless things that you could only call objets: an old camera in a battered brown leather case; a Lucite Rolodex; vintage sunglasses; toy sports cars.

‘Look in the bedroom part.’ Quin pointed me to a space further along.

God, it was gorgeous—hand-tufted rugs, more beautiful lamps and a bed with a cartoonishly padded headboard. I opened the wardrobe to discover Pucci kaftans, a silver Courrèges coat, dresses from Biba and a stack of Hermès luggage.

‘All vintage,’ Quin was behind me. ‘Have you seen the jewellery? There on your right, on the dressing table.’

I looked—and gasped: there were bangles, pendants, earrings and cufflinks. All in precious metals and stones, winking and dazzling on a velvet backdrop.

‘And.’ A short pause followed. ‘There are rings.’

…The back of my neck prickled. God almighty, he wasn’t about to—? I turned to see him holding a large green ring towards me.

Panic surged. No, Quin, no, Quin, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Inadvertently, I’d stepped away from him—and only then did I notice his confusion.

‘What, Rach?’

His gaze moved from my stricken face to the ring in his hands. I watched understanding dawn on him. ‘Jesus.’ He sounded shocked. ‘Did you actually think…?’ In disbelief, he spluttered, ‘I wasn’t asking you to marry me, Rachel.’

‘Ah. One of my favourite pieces.’ Mr Navabi appeared. ‘Green tourmaline and diamond. A cocktail ring.’

‘A cocktail ring?’ I managed.

‘Worn for special occasions. I’m available if you need any information.’ Discreetly, he slipped away.

The ring was still in Quin’s hands. ‘So you’re certain you don’t want to marry me?’ His tone was sarky. ‘Quite certain, I’d say. Yeah, no room for doubt there.’

‘Quin. I’m sorry, I don’t know what…’

I’d hurt him terribly. I’d even managed to shock myself.

And we’d been doing so well.

*