The question is stark, and I flounder slightly. “Erm, well, I suppose that was just something I associated with my dad.” I come to a stop, unable to explain how, for some ridiculous reason, doing up properties seemed to edge too closely to becoming my father in my mind.

He cocks his head on one side and looks intently at me. “Shame,” he says quietly. “You need a challenge.” He walks slowly away, examining another house while I stand struck dumb. Coming to my senses, I bolt after him.

We pass an ice cream parlour, and he nods to himself and smiles. “We need ice cream,” he decides.

I shake my head. “You’re such a child,” I laugh but it falters as I catch the shadow crossing his face. “Hey,” I say. And suddenly I’ve had enough. I look around and pull him down a side street. It’s quiet in the morning sunshine and the only sound is the chuckling water running near us. “Okay,” I say abruptly. “What’s the matter? And tell me the truth.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he says evasively, and I pull him to face me.

“Yes, you are. Why the sudden bouts of quiet? You’re not quiet. It’s a completely unnatural state of being for you.”

He half smiles. “I think I need to work on that. I’m a bit loud.”

“Who said that?” I say fiercely.

“Erm, you.”

I hesitate. “Oh, well.” His lip twitches, and I shake my head. “I was wrong.”

He tips his head to one side, the shiny brown strands moving silkily against the tanned skin of his neck. “Really?” he asks mockingly. I shoot him a warning glance, and he chuckles. “Sorry. But I think Noah might have been building a boat the last time you said you were wrong.”

“It doesn’t happen often,” I say slowly. I smile at him. “I like the sound of your voice. I like listening to you talk.”

“But you like quiet too?”

“I admit I’m not loud. But that’s why it’s so good to be with you. You’re funny and quick-witted, and you liven things up around me.”

“But you’re used to older men.” He hesitates. “More sophisticated men.”

It hits me like a thunderbolt. “That’s why you changed into that outfit that makes you look like you’ve been body snatched by Ralph Lauren.” He glares at me, and I reach up and cup his shoulders, looking into that lively face of his. “You don’t need to dress like Patrick. You don’t need to be silent, or discuss politics in a very loud voice. You don’t even need to smoke a pipe and wear a cravat or whatever idea you have of someone who is with me.”

“But that’s what you’re used to. I don’t want to embarrass you. You think I’m a kid.”