‘It’s nearly two months . . . Well, just get them, then . . . Look, I’ve really got to go. I’ll see you later.’

My stomach churned.

You ended the call, placed the pen in your inside jacket pocket, then smiled as you patted the file. ‘Sorry about that. Thank you, Constance. How are you feeling today?’

‘I’m . . . I’m fine. Much better, thank you. Dr Stevens, Linda’s asked if I can do all your work from now on. She feels too upset to keep coming into Dr Williams’s office. So if . . . if you need anything, just ask me. Not Linda . . . or Alison.’

‘Oh right. OK. You’ve not been sick again, then?’

‘No. No, I’m fine now.’ You looked directly at me, squinted, ensuring I was telling the truth. You cared. ‘Can I get you a coffee, Dr Stevens?’

Sitting back in your chair, you pushed your fingers through your hair. ‘Constance, do you think they’ll ever accept me?’

‘Of course. Of course they will. It’s just very early days, isn’t it?’

‘Because I like it here, you know. I do. I prefer it to Harley Street. I can tell already. For a start, I live less than a ten-minute walk away. Not that I’ve walked it yet, mind. Lazy bastard . . . Sorry.’

‘It’s OK. You can say “bastard”. I don’t mind.’

You laughed. I laughed too. Although I wasn’t sure what was funny.

‘I’m glad, anyway . . . that you’ll be doing my stuff.’

You have no idea of the overwhelming delight I felt at you saying this and forced a cough to conceal the evidence of blood surging to my face.

‘You really should give up the fags, you know.’

My surprise at you saying that transformed the fake cough into a genuine one, and you handed me a small half-empty Evian bottle from your desk. I unscrewed the lid. Aware I’d be placing my lips directly on top of where yours had been, I sipped. And while doing so, my blouse draped open and I was certain you glanced at my chest.

‘I noticed you smoking . . . with your friend yesterday.’

‘Oh . . . I . . . He’s not my boyfriend . . . just a . . . I will.’ I took more water. ‘I know I should . . . give up smoking.’

‘You OK now?’

I nodded, handing him back the bottle.

‘Good. Anyway, Constance, tell me – what are you doing for lunch?’

You probably noticed the sharp intake of breath. I couldn’t believe you were already inviting me to lunch.

‘Well . . . I . . . It depends . . .’

‘Do you ever go out for a sandwich or something?’

‘Yes, well, I’m sure I will . . . I mean, I usually do.’

‘Excellent. If I give you the money, will you pick something up for me as well? I’ve got all these patients to swot up on.’ You handed me a tenner. ‘Something chicken would be great. I’ll let you decide.’