“Excellent. I’ll meet you at the main entrance. I just need to get out of my robes and take this fucking wig off.”

I have a sudden vision of him removing his black robes to reveal his naked body, and heat stirs in me. I quickly pin an innocent smile on my face. A few months ago, I’d have met him, shagged him, and left us both with smiles on our faces as we walked away without any thoughts of reconnecting. It’s a dance I’ve done all my life. But I can’t do it now. I’ve got other things to think about.

Nevertheless, vanity makes me stay seated as he moves away. I don’t want him to see my creaking process as I get out of my seat. When he’s vanished from view, I stand up and groan as all my aches and pains surface in a sudden rush of agony. I stop still for a few seconds, letting the pain wash over me. Then, when it’s gone, I cautiously straighten up.

I don’t know whether it’s the fact that I’m in my late forties that’s making it hard to get over my car accident, or whether it was the severity of the accident itself, but it’s a fact that I hurt a lot at the moment. It’s no longer the bright clamour of pain ringing in my body like a peal of bells, but more a constant ache. The doctors assured me that the aches will pass too, but I avoid taking the muscle relaxants they recommended, because they leave my mind hazy.

I walk towards the foyer slowly. As is usual, I limp badly at first, but then the stiffness lessens, and I walk easier. It’d be even easier if I’d use the stick the hospital provided, but I’m an impatient person. I want to be well again, and the stick seems to be a symbol of a bad time.

I switch my phone on in the vast marble lobby. Messages and emails immediately sound out in a flurry of chirping, and I spend a few minutes checking anything for urgency.

Something makes me look up, and I watch as Magnus walks towards me with that elegant stride of his. He’s wearing a black pinstriped suit, the material clinging to his long legs and those broad shoulders. I’m amused to see that he’s swapped his shiny black shoes for a pair of pink Nike trainers.

A man calls to him, smiling widely, and he stops for a second to speak to him before walking over to me.

“Sorry I’ve been a while,” he says. “I needed to speak to my pupil.”

“How very Prime of Miss Jean Brodie,” I say and he laughs.