Looking back, it was like we had been gripped by a mania that went beyond the normal lustful fun that fills the early days of a relationship. I knew we couldn’t keep this up forever but, at the same time, believed that we would. We were having so much sex that I lost two or three pounds. My body looked more toned, my muscles pumped. I didn’t care about the circles that were beginning to darken beneath my eyes. Who needed sleep?

One night, lying in bed, a thought struck me. ‘You still haven’t shown me any of your art,’ I said.

‘I know. I will. But I haven’t had time to do anything lately.’ She poked my chest. ‘I’ve been distracted.’

The room was candlelit and cold outside the cocoon of the bed.

‘That makes me feel guilty. I don’t want you to stop doing what you love.’

‘You’re what I love,’ she said, her voice thick and sleepy.

‘Yes, but . . . You said you were going to do my portrait.’

There was no response. She was asleep.

The next day I had a meeting with Wowcom’s marketing director, who appeared thoroughly bored and unimpressed with everything I showed him, though Victor would call me afterwards and say, ‘You really wowed them at Wowcom.’ I could never tell if he was being sarcastic. They wanted me to keep working on the project, though, and Victor told me he had some other clients he wanted me to meet.

‘One thing,’ he said. ‘The client says your work is a little too sexy. I mean, sexy is good. Of course it’s fucking good. But this isn’t American Apparel or Playboy. You need to tone it down a bit.’

I was shocked. I’d used a few risqué images: young, beautiful people entwined, kissing on beaches. It was hardly explicit but there was, I had to admit, a lot of flesh on display.

Having coffee with Sasha after my meeting with the marketing guy, I told her what Victor had said.

She snorted. ‘Sounds like your real life is seeping into your work.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Come off it, Andrew. You told me you and your flame-haired sex-bomb are like a pair of rabbits on Viagra. It’s interesting, because I would have thought that being sexually frustrated would make you more likely to produce sexy stuff. But with you it’s the other way round.’

‘I feel embarrassed.’

‘And so you should.’ She pouted, half serious. ‘I feel very neglected recently. I haven’t seen you properly for two weeks.’

‘I know. I’ve been busy.’

She gave me a look.

‘Why don’t the three of us go out. Me, you and Charlie.’