‘There’s always a way,’ he’d answered lazily, his fingertips running over her skin.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Things happen. Unexpected things. Who’s to say? Something unexpected might happen to make things possible for us.’

‘But what will people think when they find out?’ she had asked him, frightened and excited now by the prospect he was dangling in front of her.

His hand had paused in its stroking. ‘It doesn’t matter what people think. All that matters is us two, together.’

She’d held him closer. ‘I’ve never felt like this before you,’ she told him. ‘It’s not like this with Greg. It never was. That’s an awful thing to admit, isn’t it?’

‘Not awful. Just honest.’

‘I feel I can be honest with you. That what we have between us is honest and true, no hidden meanings, no pretences. Don’t you feel that too?’

She had moved so that she could look down on to his face, leaning her weight on her elbows and forearms.

‘I do. You are extraordinary to me, little one.’

His leg moved then, his thigh nudging between hers and she felt her arousal come alive.

‘I want us to be together always,’ she told him then.

‘We will find a way,’ he said, kissing her neck, a shiver passing through her as his tongue ran along her collarbone.

‘But Charlotte –’

‘Don’t worry about Charlotte.’

‘But I do. I don’t want to share you.’ His mouth was reaching for her breast now, and she moved so that he could find it. ‘If only I could have you all to myself.’

‘You will,’ he whispered. ‘Be patient.’

And then she was kneeling over him, feeling nervous and dissolute and heavy with desire. His eyes gleamed – she could see his pupils dilated in the dimly lit room – and he reached for her and pulled her to him, their bodies continuing the conversation long after words had flown.

She should go back, retreat into the safety of her house, but the memory has a strong hold over her, keeping her rooted to the spot, her fingertips pressed to the window pane of that basement bedroom, staring in, bewildered.

At that moment the front door opens above, and a man emerges. He bangs the door shut behind him, and stands there for a moment, as if catching his breath.

Anton, she thinks, her heart clenching in her chest. But when she hurries up the steps, she sees that it is not Anton but a younger man, still tall with a youthful head of hair, zipping up his jacket and staring out over the park with a narrowed gaze.

She knows who he is. His face is bruised and swollen, but she still recognizes him. The boy she wanted to take in. The boy she wanted to raise as her own. A grown man now, and so like his father that it disarms her.