It’s busy at the dress agency this morning. Excited women of various ages are rifling through the racks and flicking nimble fingers between the necks of clicky hangers. There are rainbows of colours on the rails, teasing novel slivers of beads and sequins and gossamer fabrics, catching the light. A lot of new stock has come in. I hope my dress is still here. I’ve let the silky rayon slip through my fingers. I’ve failed to imagine any scenario where I could wear this amazing, seductive, sublime miracle of a dress, but now I have one, I need to find it.

I head to the rail. I can’t see it, but the rail is concertinaed with rippling waves of dresses of all colours. I rifle through … yes! There it is, three dresses from the end, dragged wall-wards by two more robust beauties so I couldn’t see it. I pull it out and wonder at its gorgeousness; I wonder where its previous owner wore it and how she could ever have said goodbye.

As soon as I put it over my head and zip it up, in the tiny changing room, I just know. It swings when I twist in it. It makes my boobs look great. The colour lights up the decent side of my face. It’s perfect. I smile at myself, knowing this is the kind of romantic, summery froth of a dress that might just make Salvi want to rip it off with his teeth.

‘That’s beautiful,’ says Maya, as I carry it like a precious child to the counter. She has escaped from the back room and is standing behind me. ‘Please tell me you’re getting it.’

‘I certainly am.’ I smile. I’m flushed, I know, from the over-warm changing room and the anticipation of me in this dress.

‘Another hot date? Same man?’

‘Yes, same man. We’re going for lunch on Sunday. To The Monastery.’

‘Ooh, fancy. Well, that’s exciting. Shoes?’

‘Shoes.’ Ah, I had nothing that would go with this dress. The wedges wouldn’t cut it. And Loved Before doesn’t sell shoes.

‘You’ll have to go into the West End,’ says Maya.

‘Will I?’

‘Yes, treat yourself to something gorgeous! Harvey Nics, Selfridges … beautiful shoes.’

‘I suppose so,’ I say. I never go shopping in the West End.

‘That dress needs amazing shoes,’ says Maya. ‘Go to the West End and fall in love with some!’

‘Thank you,’ I say, looking into her kind smiling face. ‘Maybe I will.’