‘Is through here.’ He jerked a thumb towards the hall. His hands were golden brown, the nails standing out in the palest pink. Victoria heard rummaging from the hallway, a door opening, things being moved around – the hoover, the ironing board, all the stuff she never touched but left to the cleaner – and, finally, the sound of low laughter.

‘What is it?’ She stood in the bathroom doorway, and saw his bum sticking out of the cupboard.

‘Pilot light.’ There were three loud clicks, and he emerged, red in the face, one thick vein standing out on his forehead. ‘Pilot light gone out. Is light now.’

‘Oh dear, was that all? I suppose I should know how to do that myself. How embarrassing.’

‘Is easy. I show you?’

‘Well, I don’t know. Isn’t it terribly complicated?’

‘Come. Here. Look.’

She ducked into the cupboard, and he joined her. It was a cosy fit, particularly with his great broad shoulders. He smelt rather agreeably of soap and sweat.

‘Look. See little light?’ His thick fingers pointed to a porthole, where a tiny blue flicker of flame was burning.

‘Oh yes . . .’

‘If he is not there, you go one, two, three, boomph.’ He pressed a button. ‘Now you do.’

‘One . . . Oh, it’s stiff!’

‘Harder.’

‘Two . . . I can’t seem to . . .’

His hand covered hers. ‘Here. Like this.’ He pumped her fingers down, the button engaged, the spark flew.

‘Oh! How lovely!’ They watched the flame burn for a moment together, as if it was the most rivetting thing in the world. ‘Now may I have my hand back, please?’

‘Yes. Sorry.’

They emerged, backwards and rather inelegantly, from the cupboard. Victoria’s dressing gown had worked itself open, and in rearranging it she gave him a flash. Accidentally? Of course.

He bounded ahead of her into the bathroom, turned on taps. ‘Now! Hot water!’

‘Thank you so much. I would never have been able to do that on my own. It’s okay, leave it running.’

He was squatting down again, packing up his toolbox, filling out his form. His thighs bulged, threatening to rip the blue cotton of his overalls. He smiled up at her. God, he was handsome.

‘Perhaps you would like to . . . help me test it.’

Doubt crossed his face. Perhaps his English wasn’t good enough to catch her meaning – not that it was particularly ambiguous. Victoria didn’t want to scare him off, but she was going to have to drop any attempt at subtlety.

She opened her dressing gown.

He understood that.

Within seconds, his hands – those huge, brown hands with golden hairs on the wrist – were all over her, on her waist, her back, her shoulders, her buttocks. He smiled, a pink flush on his cheeks, and then buried his face between her breasts, kissing and licking, sucking on each nipple, not too hard, not too gently. He knew what he was doing. He came up for air, but only long enough to kiss his way up her neck and find her mouth.