As she walked into Lewis’s tall, imposing building it was with a prickling feeling of dread. What if she met her mother? Did she even work here still? Surely not, after all this time? And what, more disastrously, might happen if he met her? Katie slipped up the stairs, giving the drapery department a wide berth.

There was no sign of him in the Ranelagh Rooms, where they had agreed to meet. She sat feeling very nervous at a table facing the door of the smart room, amid the Saturday shoppers who had come for a breather and a cup of coffee, and told the waitress she would order once her friend arrived. That morning she had chosen her clothes carefully, dressing in her navy business suit, her coat and smartest navy hat, her hair taken up into a neat pleat – almost as if for a lover, she realized, her emotions still flitting between defensive anger and tremulous need. Whatever else, she wanted him to see the best of her. Pulling off her navy gloves, she sat back trying to look composed. Was he going to be late?

He was bigger than she remembered, more imposing. As soon as he entered the room he was noticeable, hurrying a little, his brown coat swinging open, hat perched slightly at an angle on his head, and a scarf in brown-and-faun checks hanging over his lapels. He saw her and seemed to hesitate for a second, his confidence faltering. He gave a slight smile and came towards her, pulling off his own gloves, large and black, and holding out his hand. Katie stood up, her hammering heart making her breathless, and felt her hand gripped in his.

‘Well, hello again, Katie,’ he said. She could hear the misgiving in his voice. Did he wish now that he hadn’t said he would come, she wondered painfully? But he looked closely at her – hungrily almost, did she imagine that? – as she returned his greeting and they released hands and both sat down.

The waitress whom Katie had waved away before approached immediately and they both ordered coffee.

‘Anything to eat, Katie?’ Michel O’Neill asked. He had a soft, well-spoken voice.

‘No – thank you.’ She felt as if she might never eat again at that minute.

There was a moment of silence, during which they eyed each other and she tried to build up her inner defences against him. He was looking at her, curious, as if trying to work something out, and she was examining him. Moved, she saw hints of her son in the shape of his brows, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and the curling black hair, even though the hair of the man in front of her was halfway to grey. It was astonishing, his physical reality, here in front of her. And he looked nervous, vulnerable. For a moment a lump came up in her throat, quite unexpectedly. She had wanted somehow to keep the upper hand in any conversation. This wasn’t the moment to start blarting all over the table!