Shona was at the tube station fifteen minutes early. She stood nervously by the gates, checking her reflection in the Photo-Me machine. She reapplied her lipstick and then wiped it off, thinking it looked too obvious. She reapplied it, and then wiped it off again, definitely. She was meeting a colleague, she told herself. She really didn’t need to look or feel pretty. She pulled out her copy of Andromaque, and looked at the pages, not really reading them. When Dermot arrived, she would give him a bright smile and a firm kiss on the cheek. Then he would know that they were friends again, and everything would be back to normal. He’d know that she wasn’t cross, and that she knew that he hadn’t meant anything by what had happened last night.

At ten minutes before six, Dermot arrived at the station. He didn’t come up the escalator from the tube, as Shona had expected. He came down the stairs from the street. When he saw her, he broke into a smile so genuine, of such unadulterated relief and hope, that her firm intentions withered - he practically shone with happiness. He walked quickly towards her, and she reached her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately, breathlessly. Her knees felt weak again. When he pulled away, it was to hold the length of her slight frame against him, and kiss her reverently on her forehead.

Shona pressed her face against his chest, and said disconsolately into his jacket, ‘Vous me trompiez, Seigneur.’

‘Je me trompais moi-même,’ he answered. Shona looked up at him. He was still smiling, but she was practically tearful.

‘I’m so glad you came,5 he said, unnecessarily, as Shona could read it on his face with more eloquence than his clumsy words could express.

‘I think I had to,’ Shona answered. He held her close to him as they walked upstairs and out of the tube station, on to the wet, icy street.

‘You look beautiful today,’ he said sincerely, smoothing a strand of her hair back in place, and brushing his thumb against her full, un-made up, lower lip.

As Shona and Dermot walked along the muddy paths of the Common, his arm protectively around her in the security of the darkness, Shona asked, ‘Why here? Why Clapham Common tube?’

It’s where I live,’ answered Dermot.

‘But I thought you said you lived in Balham?’ Shona asked with a frown.

Dermot stopped walking, and kissed her where her brow had furrowed. ‘You said I lived in Balham, and I let you assume it because I didn’t want you to think I was going out of my way when I drove you home. I thought you might not let me take you any more.’