There wasn’t time for her whole life to pass before her, but she did manage to wonder if she could jump free of the falling ladder, what on earth Ben was doing there and if she’d ever get the paint off the floor. One foot hit the floor first, sending a stab of pain to her ankle, then Ben caught her and she swayed downwards, unable to save herself. Her weight and the angle at which he caught her knocked him off balance and they landed on the floor together, breathless, she on one of his arms, the rest of him more or less on top of her.

For a moment neither of them moved or spoke. ‘It’s all right. Don’t try to get up; just lie still and get your breath back. Thank God I managed to break your fall.’

Thea lay back. She felt strangely calm, considering that a moment ago she’d been confronting broken limbs or worse. She felt as if the elastic had gone in her arms and legs; they felt heavy and relaxed, as if she were in bed after a long night’s sleep. Even the pain in her ankle subsided to a dull throb. Then she became aware that her shirt was halfway up her back and that Ben had moved off her a little. Also, that his hand was on her bare waist.

Questions flitted irrelevantly through her mind; when did she last wax her legs? Was there paint all over the floor? What sort of knickers had she put on that morning? Praying it wasn’t one of the older pairs, she wondered why on earth Ben didn’t get up. Was there some sort of medical reason why he should stay lying down too? Predominately, she acknowledged, she didn’t want him to get up. She liked lying under him, half naked, with this strange feeling of lassitude making it impossible to do anything except stay there. Normally by now she would have jumped to her feet, frantically apologising, and started to mop up the floor.

‘I must be squashing you to death,’ he said, not moving.