‘Hello, you,’ he says and he swizzes round to his side of the table and drops into his seat; a quick move, like a fox jumping into a brook. He does look a little vulpine today, actually – sharp and cheeky. Up to no good. He’s wearing a black shirt, silky in texture, many buttons undone, with black jeans and black loafers.

‘Hello, yourself.’

‘Been waiting long?’

‘No, not really.’

‘Hey, you’re facing the wrong way.’ He’s up again. ‘You can’t come to The Monastery and face the wall. Here, swap with me, then you can look out over the courtyard.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, taking his just vacated seat as he takes mine, but this is far from what I mean. As I sit in my new seat, the sun, above the arches of the opposite cloisters, is right in my face, like a searchlight; I didn’t even bring my sunglasses.

‘So, how are we? Have we had a good week? What did you do this morning?’ he adds genially. Warmth radiates off his skin, as does his cologne, sweet and musky. His eyes are a penetrating green. ‘Anything nice?’

‘No, not really, just getting ready.’ Damn, why the hell am I telling him it took me the whole morning to get ready for this date? Schoolgirl error, and Lord knows I’ve made those before …

‘You look ready,’ he says. ‘You look great.’

‘Thank you.’ I blush. The waitress reappears. She looked a bit surly when she served me; now she is all smiles.

‘Can I take your drinks order, Salvi?’

Of course. He is known here.

‘Sure, lovely. A bottle of Sancerre, please. And a Coke.’

The waitress nods and sweeps away my empty glass.

‘A Coke?’ I ask.

‘Oh, I’m not drinking. I’ve got the car parked further up the Embankment. I’ll take you for a spin in it after. Hey, the food’s fantastic here,’ he adds. ‘I know the menu like the back of my hand. Shall I just order for the both of us?’

I nod, and he flicks swiftly through the parchment pages of the massive menu. ‘Yep, yep, yep. OK, done. You’ll love it, Prue – it’s really special.’ He slaps the menu shut then pats it twice with a brace of rigid fingers, as if sealing a deal with the universe.

The waitress returns with the drinks. A Coke with ice and lemon is placed in front of Salvi and a chilled bottle of Sancerre, sporting delicious beads of condensation, is placed in an ice bucket to my right. I’d put my head in it if I could; I’m so hot. A glass is poured for me. The wine is crisp and delicious.