Anyway, Jamie imprinted on him like a very posh duckling, turning up wherever we happened to be, his face alight with admiration for my gorgeous librarian. Jamie’s family are immensely wealthy, and it seems he has little else to do but follow Charlie around. However, he doesn’t grate on me like Harry, and we’ve accepted him into our group happily, if not a little bewildered. It’s puzzling how someone so rich could find it good fun to hang out at Charlie’s flat which seemed to be vying for slum decor of the year. I think Jamie accepts that Charlie doesn’t see him as a potential love interest, and he’s definitely gained a tiny bit of my approval by staying around to become a friend to him.

Now he hugs him, smiling happily at the brightly wrapped parcel that Charlie hands him. I roll my eyes. I bet it’s a book. Charlie is renowned in our group for giving books as presents that he wants to read himself. Sometimes he’ll even buy his own copy so the lucky recipient can have lengthy conversations about the book with him. In my case, he usually just borrows it back after a few days. Never fails to make me smile.

A waiter appears in the doorway. “Dinner is served,” he says and gestures us into the private dining room where we’ll be eating tonight. The table is long and tiny cards with our names on them mark our places. I’m relieved to find that I’m not sitting next to Harry. His personality would give me indigestion. A multitude of candles sparkle in their glass bowls on the table. More candles burn in the windows, their reflections making the glass glisten, and fresh flowers emit a heavy perfume that saturates the air.

It’s a lovely view, and I smile as I see Charlie looking at the candles approvingly.

He catches my smile. “What?” he asks.

I gesture at the candles. “The place is made for you.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but Harry turns back. “Charlie, apparently you’re sitting with me,” he says sharply and gestures to the place setting in front of him imperiously. I glare at him. If he’d clicked his fingers, he’d have been more subtle.

Charlie looks at him for a long moment, and I puzzle over Charlie’s expression as I sit down. I realise with shock that it’s detachment. It’s all wrong on Charlie’s face, like he’s trying on someone else’s skin for a joke. Typically, he’s sociable and warm with his boyfriends. He’s always concerned for their well-being. I suspect that being with Charlie is like having him wrap you in a warm blanket like the ones on his bed.