There was no shame in loving someone. Love was a good, uplifting emotion that made the world go round. Everyone knew that. But everyone, even one as inexperienced as Laura, knew that it was best to keep your feelings to yourself until you were fairly sure they were reciprocated.

She could hope he wouldn’t realise why she’d done what she’d done. She could hope he wouldn’t read the signals that to her seemed as clear as if she’d arranged an aeroplane to trail a banner through the sky saying ‘I Love You’ in big letters. Men were notoriously dense about matters like this.

She heard movement in the rooms above her and realised she had to get rid of any signs of her tears, or her weakness. She’d blame it all on Eleanora. He might think she had insisted that she dealt with his sordid house and cook for him. He might not identify her as a complete, loved-up sucker.

Her emergency make-up kit in her handbag produced a tiny sample tube of foundation that she patted on round her nose, disguising the redness. Some mascara sorted out her eyes, and by the time she heard him thundering down the stairs she felt quite respectable.

‘Laura, dear girl, what are you doing here?’ His voice was still a little hoarse, but that didn’t make it any less sexy.

‘Eleanora sent me. Everyone’s beside themselves with worry. They didn’t know what had happened to you. They thought you must have been ill, or gone on a bender or something.’ She paused, looking at him questioningly.

‘Or something,’ he said after an annoyingly long pause, and pulled out a chair and sat on it. He was wearing clean jeans and a shirt that was clean if very crumpled. It was only half tucked in. Part of Laura was grateful that he hadn’t run out of clothes completely.

‘But you’re all right?’ Laura ladled soup into a bowl. She wanted an explanation: summer flu, a bad back, something.

She didn’t get one. ‘Yes.’ He started to eat the soup hungrily. ‘There wouldn’t be a . . .’

She handed him a plate of bread and butter. ‘You obviously haven’t eaten a thing for ages. Whyever not?’

He shook his head. ‘I was not able,’ he said through a mouthful of bread.

Silently, Laura added the missing ‘to’, liking the difference between Irish English, and English English. ‘I could make you a sandwich.’

‘That would be fantastic.’

Now he’d started eating he didn’t seem able to stop. He ate an entire loaf of sandwiches, all the ham, cheese and tomatoes that Laura had bought, and then looked round for more. Eventually he said, ‘Aren’t you eating anything?’