Lily seemed effortlessly composed. ‘My option is to call the police, sir. Two seconds to decide. One—’

‘Stop bein’ so up yourself.’ Red-faced man was looking decidedly ugly.

‘Two.’ Lily reached for the phone on the wall.

Standing behind the drunk and watching Lily handle it, Isaac saw the man’s friends pulling on their coats and scowling. ‘C’mon,’ one of them called. ‘Not worth it. Crappy little pub in the arse-end of nowhere. They’re welcome to it.’

Lily put the phone to her ear and her finger on the first button.

The red-faced guy shoved abruptly away from the bar. ‘Your beer’s piss anyway.’

The men clattered chairs over and harrumphed a few more insults but they did blunder out of the front door. In the silence left behind, Lily replaced the phone.

It was ten past ten and the bar was empty. Fantastic. At least the men had put plenty into the till before their behaviour cleared the place. ‘Vita, perhaps you could start collecting glasses?’ Isaac suggested, to give him a quiet moment with Lily. As Vita moved off, he turned to Lily, intending to check she was OK.

‘Sorry,’ she jumped in before he could speak. ‘I should have handled that without antagonising him. I let him get to me because I hate it when a woman turns down a date and the man says she must therefore be gay, especially when “gay” sounds like an insult.’ Her blue eyes were stormy. ‘It always touches me on the raw because Zinnia and I are from the kind of family with two mums and no dads. I thought I’d tell you because I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s easiest all round when people know.’ She tilted her head and waited for him to react.

Chapter Two

It was obvious Lily was at least half-expecting something negative from him. Isaac wondered how many people had hurt her on this subject over the years. ‘The whiff of homophobia is always unacceptable and I can see why the awkward customer wound you up particularly.’ He smiled. What she’d outlined wasn’t precisely a situation he’d encountered before but he didn’t see why he should treat this differently to any other personal topic a member of staff had chosen to bring up. ‘Are you OK? I thought you dealt with the offensive customer well.’

She shrugged. ‘He was nothing compared to drunken stags in Barcelona. My ex-husband’s family ran a bar just off Las Ramblas. Bar Barcelona was a big place, firmly on the map so far as stags and hens were concerned. It got rowdy and I learned to ignore most bad behaviour … but tonight I let that guy get to me.’

‘He was offensive,’ he repeated. ‘Your husband was Spanish?’ It explained her surname of Cortez.