I wanted to cry. I felt my eyes well up. I took his hand which was cold and dry: enclosed it in mine. We both squeezed but his grasp was weak.

‘Thank God,’ he muttered. ‘I thought I’d got it wrong. I’ve got so much wrong, in this department, over the years.’

‘Oh, me too.’

‘Don’t get competitive.’

‘I’d win hands down.’

He gave me a sad smile. ‘We each have our own narratives. Unhappy ones. But important to get it right eventually, I feel.’

‘I think so too.’

We stayed like that for a moment. Then I felt his other hand. ‘I’m taking you in, you’re cold.’

‘I feel like Mr Rochester.’

‘And I feel far too much like Jane.’

‘Meaning?’

I hesitated. Wondered whether to go ahead with it. But then I did. ‘Well, in the spirit of full disclosure, which seems to be our theme, I was worried you were too much for me. That I was punching above my weight. And that now I’m only in with a chance because you’re an invalid.’

He looked astonished. Then he tilted his head back and hooted a cracked laugh to the heavens. ‘Rochester was blind, wasn’t he?’

‘My point entirely.’

He was still smiling as his face came back to me. ‘Are you always so honest?’

‘Fatally so,’ I said ruefully. ‘It’s a problem. Emotional incontinence. But I’ve learned to hide it, over the years.’

‘Please don’t. I think it’s your supreme attraction. I’ve been used to so many closed hearts. So much coldness. I long to say what’s on my mind the moment it arrives. Have longed to, for years. Like you just did. Please kiss me, Lucy, I can’t reach.’

I did. Gently. His lips were cold. Too cold. In another moment I’d turned the chair around and was whipping him inside.

‘That didn’t last long,’ he grumbled.

‘You’re freezing.’

‘I’m not, and I feel better than I have done for days.’

When I’d shut the French windows, I went around to crouch in front of him. My eyes scanned his face. I had to admit there was a slight colour in his cheeks and a light to his eyes. That may have been the fresh air, of course. I like to think not. We smiled at one another, communing silently.

Then I straightened up and darted to feel the radiator, which was on. Good girl, Tilly, she’d overridden the heating. On the stove, the soup was doing a little more than simmering, Tilly having tactfully removed herself. I took it off the hob and was about to get some bowls out when I heard a few coughs from down the hallway. Having announced herself, Tilly appeared.

‘I was going to make sure he ate it,’ she said hesitantly, ‘but since you’re here …’

‘Oh yes, do go,’ I beamed at her.