Soon you were leaving for Mrs Carter’s house call. She was so rich she didn’t ever have to lower herself to come into the surgery, even for an in-growing toenail. ‘I’m going straight on to Knightsbridge to see Mrs Johnson after, so I’ll be a couple of hours. Thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.’

‘Hopefully not,’ I replied.

You laughed. As did I. And we were connected once more.

I observed as you struggled with your coat. I hadn’t seen it before, and it looked new. Heavy and luxurious. I imagined its woollen arms wrapped around me.

‘I forgot to ask, did you sort your car out, Dr Stevens?’

You turned up your collar and smiled. ‘I did, thank you for asking. She’s all sorted. You’d never have known it had happened.’

And so everything was wiped clean.

At lunchtime I refused Alison’s offer to share her heated-up moussaka that good old Kevin had made the night before using his grandmother’s recipe. Aside from not eating meat, I had to get Edward’s keys cut and pick up his shopping, which included tinned prunes and Bovril. Why are other people’s shopping lists so bizarre?

I fastened up my coat. Except for the missing middle button, strands of cotton in its place, shaming me with every outing. All morning the icy air had forced itself in with each opening of the door. Bringing with it windswept, ruby-cheeked patients sighing with relief at finding themselves in the warmth of our reception. In preparation, I searched for Edward’s keys in my black hole of a bag, and when I finally found them, I put them in my pocket to prevent any faffing in the cutter’s. Then I took the copied papers to your room, in case you returned before I did.

Nervous, excited at the thought of entering alone, my hand gripped the handle of the door. I took a deep breath before opening it but was stopped by the sensation of fingers tapping on my back. I whipped around.

‘Dr Franco . . . You gave me a heart attack.’ My hand reached for my chest to calm myself.

‘Sorry. Sorry, Constance. I presumed you’d heard me bounding down the corridor.’

‘No . . . sorry. I—’

‘It’s been a while. I was thinking about you today. We haven’t had one of our chats for quite some time.’

‘No . . . no. I suppose not. But you’re busy – you mustn’t worry about me.’

‘Oh . . . Do you not want to?’ The way he looked at me denoted that this was a serious question and I needed to answer accordingly.

‘Yes . . . yes, I really do,’ I replied.

‘Oh good, good. I’ll have a nosey in my diary. Let you know when I’m free.’ Then to use his own term, he bounded up the stairs.