I gazed around, intrigued. All this time I’d known him, and yet I’d never seen his lair. It was so very masculine, such an archetypal bachelor pad, that I nearly laughed out loud. He put some music on, easy listening I think they call it, and dimmed the lights. Above the living fire, two naked women rolled on the stone-coloured wall, wrapped tightly round each other. I tilted my head, trying to focus on the print. Perhaps they weren’t rolling: perhaps they were fighting instead.

‘Like it, darling?’ Charlie followed my gaze as he propelled me towards a squashy leather sofa where my bottom was distinctly lower than my knees. He poured me a large Cognac. ‘Your sort of thing, eh, Maggie?’

‘God, no.’ I took a slug of brandy and nearly choked. They definitely weren’t fighting, I realised from this angle. ‘I’m pretty straightforward really.’

‘Really?’ His hooded eyes were gleaming like a snake about to strike. ‘You can never tell, darling. I thought I had you sussed until the summer. I thought perhaps you were game-on after –’

I changed the subject quickly. ‘No tiger-skin rug then, eh, Charlie?’

‘What?’ He frowned.

‘Oh, nothing.’ The brandy burnt my throat. ‘Can you ring that cab please? I’m knackered.’

‘I already did, darling.’ Charlie sat right next to me, inching his arm behind my head so I had to lean forward not to touch him. I could smell his hair-oil as I edged away until I was rammed up against the sofa-arm.

‘Does Jeffrey Archer still live next door?’ I asked rather desperately.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Fan of his?’

‘Hardly,’ I said indignantly. ‘Look, I think – if you just give me the number, I’ll call again. I really should be getting home now.’

But Charlie wasn’t listening; Charlie was preparing to pounce. Charlie, my supposed bloody mentor – who I’d worked with for years, who I’d never had to fend off before, despite his boringly lecherous ways. I’d never been his type – I wasn’t blonde or busty enough. Before I could move, he lunged; stuck his tongue into my mouth until I couldn’t breathe. It seemed to have a life of its own. I felt quite sick.

‘Charlie, for Christ’s sake! Get off!’ I managed to push him away, wiping my mouth frantically.

‘I thought you liked a bit of danger, darling.’ Entirely unperturbed, he pushed his hair back with the signet-ringed hand and topped up his brandy from the decanter on the coffee table. He didn’t spill a drop; nor did he replenish mine. ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy that, Maggie.’