Will didn’t drop the parcel and run, or shout her name, or stand and gape. He did miss a step, but anyone might do that given Phoebe’s legs and Maisie’s bosom, both emphasised by Paris fashions. He recovered himself, touched his cap in a polite sort of way as he passed the baying gaggle of reporters—Why are you visiting Lord Arthur, Miss Stephens-Prince? Is the engagement back on?—and got up to the door without anyone bothering to look at him. The doorman did look, gave a tiny twitch of a grin, and let him in without a word.

Kim must have been waiting by his front door. He opened it at the first knock, and the look of unalloyed joy on his face was such that Will dropped his books, grabbed him, and kissed him ferociously. Kim staggered back at the impact, clinging to him, laughing in his mouth. Will pulled away after an enthusiastic moment to get a proper look at him and the sparkle in his eyes.

“She came back,” Kim said. “She came. She read a British newspaper, saw I was in trouble, and they took a private aeroplane to Croydon this morning.”

“I bloody told you.” Will hugged him hard. “They’ll be back up, right?”

“As soon as the Press has been pandered to. I imagine there will be a great deal of newspaper interest in her return, but needs must, and as Phoebe said, we may as well take advantage of it. On which, dear God, I have wanted you here.”

Will kissed him again with an intense sensation of relief out of all proportion to the elapsed time since he’d seen him. It probably wasn’t what he should be doing first; he didn’t care. It felt important, even urgent, to snatch this moment back from the outside world and feel Kim aflame with uncomplicated happiness.

They were still kissing when the door opened and a cloud of chiffon, powder, and perfume announced Phoebe. “Oops! So sorry, Kim. Will, darling, how utterly glorious to see you!”

Will reeled back from Phoebe’s scented embrace into a bear hug as Maisie caught him round the chest. “Oh, you. Missed you.”

“You too,” Will said wholeheartedly. “Blimey, it’s good to see you. Where did you two spring from?”

“Paris, darling,” they said in cut-glass chorus, and burst into giggles. Maisie grabbed his hand. “Come on. Let’s sit down.”

“Yes, and Kim, darling, cocktails at once,” Phoebe ordered. “Of course it isn’t too early, don’t be silly. Goodness knows we need a drink. We came over in the most appallingly tiny machine—with a lady pilot, I’ll have you know, in trousers—and it was positively terrifying, not to mention that my mother will find out any moment that I’m back and want to know why we aren’t staying with her as if that isn’t obvious.”