She could have said anything. She could have said, ‘You have a smut on the tip of your nose.’ Collis could do nothing but look at her, and realise, with an extraordinary tight feeling in his upper chest, like a diver rising from the deep, that two years can change a seventeen-year-old girl into a nineteen-year-old woman, and a very remarkable young woman at that.

Delphine Spooner was hypnotisingly pretty. What Collis could see of her dark hair was arranged in little curls, and beneath the curls her forehead was high and pale. Her eyes were quite huge, and they had a dreamy, myopic look about them which he found irresistible. Her nose was short and slightly upturned, and her lips were pink and sulky. She was petite, yes; but her figure was practically perfect: small, high, rounded breasts; an upright back; and a way of standing that made him think, immodestly, of firm thighs and trim little ankles.

He kept hold of her hand, although his grasp was very gentle, and would not release it. He let his usual worried look melt away into a warm expression of interest and intrigue, just as he always did when he flirted with a pretty woman. Then, in his huskiest voice, he said, ‘I’m quite devastated to meet you. I think you’ve just made this the most beautiful and the most surprising day of my life.’

Delphine’s cheeks coloured, and she tried to take her hand away, but Collis lifted her fingers to his lips and brushed her glove with a kiss. Then, still holding her tight, he raised his eyes and gazed at her for a full ten seconds in the darkest, most smouldering way he could manage. Delphine returned his gaze for a moment, but then she dropped her eyes and looked away, although Collis could tell by the way she allowed him to keep her hand captive that she didn’t disapprove. It was all part of the game of courtship and pretended modesty, and he was pleased and excited that she knew how to play it.