His voice was so gentle, she could have wept. ‘But you think I might not want you because of that.’

She nodded and peeped quickly at his face. She’d been so terrified of seeing revulsion there, but instead she saw love, saw it so clearly that she gulped and nearly broke down.

‘Did you think that would make a difference to me?’

She shrugged. ‘I can’t tell. Some people reacted in unexpected ways when I was diagnosed, even vanished from my social scene entirely. Others – especially my two best friends – stood by me. They were wonderful.’

‘Do you have a prosthesis? Is that why you’re so – nervous?’

‘No. I had a breast reconstruction. I wasn’t sure whether to bother, didn’t think I’d ever want to make love again. After Bill died, I couldn’t see myself finding another man. But in the end I had the reconstruction done for myself, so that I’d look – more normal. So that I’d feel right.’ He started to speak but she held up one hand. ‘Let me finish before I run out of courage.’

She took another deep breath and went on with her explanation. ‘They did it by back flap. The surgeon removed and redirected muscles and blood vessels from my back to make a new breast mound. So there’s a scar on my back, which shows more than the scar in front, actually. It’s quite a major operation and it took about two months before I was feeling myself again, but … it looks pretty good. They even added an artificial nipple later. Only … it doesn’t work like a real breast, hasn’t the same feeling.’

As he reached out to take her hand, she searched his face again and found only tenderness there. When a tear escaped her, he moved to wipe it away with a fingertip. ‘Oh, Sophie, it’s you I love, and this is part of you. No one’s perfect. I’m not unscathed myself. I’ve got scars on my face and worse ones on my body. I still have nightmares sometimes about the intruder, still feel that knife at my throat.’

He tugged her towards him and she went willingly, letting him pull her onto his lap, nestling against him.

They didn’t say anything for a while, didn’t need to. It was enough to sit quietly, letting their breaths mingle, sharing the warmth of their bodies.

‘If it’s confession time,’ he said at last, ‘then I have to remind you that I’m a very bad risk and you’d be a fool to take up with me, but … I’m hoping desperately that you will.’

She studied his face, dear to her already. ‘And if I do want to take up with you … ?’

‘Then we’ll face the world together and let the press say what it will. If things go well between us, I’ll ask you to stay with me, marry me.’

She gave him a quick hug. ‘You may not want me to. I’m not easy to live with. Andi pointed that out only recently. I vanish into my office and I’m absent-minded when a story is pouring out. I really need my solitude and I’d hate to live in anyone’s pocket, even the man I love.’