‘Now that’s made this a whole lot harder,’ she told her dogs, switching on the engine and slotting in the CD, skipping to the second track and then settling back to text thank you.

When a short and deliciously flirty exchange was cut short by her signal dropping out, she listened to ‘Word on a Wing’, feet up on the dash, vaguely recalling that Bowie claimed not to remember making the album at all. How she’d adored the Thin White Duke. A teenager at the time, she’d dreamed of marrying her own nobleman, naughty Bunter Worcester maybe or even Prince Charles.

Just an ordinary prince.

‘Shit!’ She scrabbled out of the cab and ran back to the house to snatch up the phone from the kitchen table. He must surely have rung off. To cheer herself up, she said ‘Your Highness?’ in her best creepy courtier voice.

She almost dropped the receiver when he replied smoothly, ‘I am still here.’

‘Goodness, I’m so sorry. Bit of an emergency. Loose… er… horse.’ Morals.

‘I am a patient man.’

‘Here you go.’ She read Luca’s number out, adding, ‘I really am most—’

But the patient prince had already rung off, leaving Ronnie listening to nothing but crackle.

*

Luca drove in near silence along a maze of country lanes edged with stone walls, hedges and woods, Pax’s voice low and monotone as she gave directions.

He wished he felt better about what he’d just told her. He’d not said that much in one heartfelt conversation in years, possibly ever. It had felt awkwardly one-sided. And he’d cheated by leaving a big chunk of the story out.

Pax was much tougher and more insightful than he’d appreciated, the tears and fragility hiding formidable, rebellious resolve. And she kept pulling out surprises, not all of them welcome.

She reached into the back seat as they dropped down a hill to a pretty, sprawling village, pulling out a sparkly pink woolly hat with an oversized fluffy bobble on top. ‘I need you to wear this.’

‘You’re kidding me, right?’

‘Mack’s convinced I’m having an affair. If he thinks I’ve brought lover boy with me to pick up our son, he’ll go ape. This way, if one of them spots you sitting in the car, you’ll look like a girlfriend.’

‘Get away! I’ll look like a pervert.’

‘Please, Luca. It’s just a hat.’

Pulling over by a Neighbourhood Watch sign, he put it on. ‘Satisfied?’

‘The beard’s a bit Conchita Wurst. You’ll need to keep your head turned away.’ He felt her nervous energy building, the anxiety associated with seeing her husband.

He caught his reflection in the rear-view mirror and blew himself a kiss. ‘Sexy.’ He looked ridiculous.

‘Actually, you do look strangely hot,’ she muttered.

As they set off again, she flipped down the visor to look in the mirror, only to flip it straight back up with a groan. ‘Oh God, they’ll probably photograph my face as evidence of daytime drinking.’

‘You look fine. Now don’t bite your nails. Or blaspheme.’