‘And you’re spending…’ he cleared his throat, intrigued by his patient ‘…how long on the internet?’

‘No more than eight hours a day.’ She curled her fingers around the strap of her bag. ‘Given the chance, I’d spent longer, but with my eyes the way they are…’

Conner gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘I have to ask this—just what are you doing on the internet, Mrs Patterson?’

‘Everything,’ she said simply. ‘I mean, for an old lady on her own like me, it’s a doorway to a whole new exciting life. Last week I spent a morning looking around a new exhibition in a fancy gallery in London, just by clicking my mouse, then I spent an afternoon gazing at a beach in Australia—amazing webcam, by the way, you should try it. Last month I spent an entire week in Florence—I visited somewhere new every day. But it’s not just travel and art, it’s food, conversation. I just love chat rooms.’ She leaned forward and winked at him. ‘I bet you didn’t know there was a chat room for the over-eighties.’

Conner started to laugh. ‘No, Mrs Patterson. I didn’t know that. Do you party?’

‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’ Her smile faded. ‘But these eyes of mine…’

‘Yes.’ He shook his head and stood up. ‘All right, let’s take a look, although why I would want to fix your problem just so that you can spy on me, I don’t know. It’s probably dry-eye syndrome. You’re spending too long on the computer. And that’s something I’ve never had to say to an eighty-six-year-old before.’

‘So, which young lady’s heart are you breaking at the moment, you bad boy?’

Conner stilled, thinking of Flora. ‘No one. I’m being boringly good.’

‘You mean you don’t want to tell me.’ Agatha gave him a conspiratorial wink. ‘That’s good. When you care about a girl’s reputation, it means it’s serious.’

Conner stared at her. Serious? ‘Trust me, Agatha, it isn’t serious.’

‘Ah—so there is someone.’

Realising that he’d just been outmanoeuvred by an eighty-six-year-old woman, Conner gave a silent laugh and examined her eyes, trying not to remember how Flora had looked when he’d said that she didn’t turn him on.

Why on earth had she believed him?

Hadn’t she seen that his words and his body had contradicted each other?

Apparently not, which just proved how naïve she was.

And proved that he’d been right to walk away.

He was absolutely not the man for her.

‘Is everything all right?’ Agatha looked at him anxiously. ‘You seem very grim-faced.’

‘I’m fine. Everything is fine.’

And it should have been.

He’d ended a completely unsuitable relationship before it had started. He should have been feeling good about himself. But he was experiencing his first ever attack of conscience.