‘I’ve always enjoyed park runs, crime novels, and I’m quite partial to a bit of karaoke.’

‘You’re a singer?’

‘No, doing karaoke and being a singer are two very different things. I can just about hold a tune.’

‘That’s better than most.’ He shrugs. ‘So, back to hiking, there are such things as hotels and hostels, you know. You don’t have to do the tent thing. Or you could just do a day’s hike in the mountains.’

‘Maybe I should try it sometime then.’ I’m saying this more out of politeness than anything else.

‘You do mountains as part of big change?’ The cheery woman with the food and drinks trolley has reappeared and decided to join our conversation. ‘Good change to life. Good for heart and head. Drink for you, sir?’

The man scopes out her offerings. ‘Why not? As I’m in Scottish company, I’ll have a whisky and Coke, please.’ He glances back towards me. ‘Join me?’

I hesitate at first, unsure whether it’s a good idea to have another drink. But, caught up as I am in the moment, and enjoying another chance encounter with the god of the countryside, my better judgement appears to be on ice for now.

‘Sure, if it’s on you,’ I joke, then turn to the woman serving us. ‘Gin and tonic again, please.’

‘Two cans of tonic?’

‘That would be great, thanks.’

She serves our drinks, chatting merrily about the time she visited London and how it has no mountains, and then moves on to the next row, swaying a little as the train whooshes round one of the tighter bends.

‘You’ve made a friend, it seems,’ the man comments as he pours his drink.

‘She’s just really friendly.’

‘I’m Matt, by the way. We never got properly acquainted last time, and if we’re going to drink together, we should at least be on first-name terms. Unless you have some kind of title, which I’m more than happy to use.’

‘Hmm…’ I tap my jaw reflectively. ‘Shall I go with Lady or Dame? Which makes me sound cooler?’

‘Dame, definitely. Then you can be known as “that damn fine dame”.’

‘I like that. I’m Alex. No title, but just as fine.’

‘Perfectly put.’ He gives me a little salute.

‘Cheers.’ I hold out my drink. ‘Good to see you again.’

‘Cheers, Alex.’ He takes a mouthful of his drink and makes a pained face that’s a dead giveaway he’s not a regular whisky drinker. ‘So, where are you off to this time? Another conference?’

His dark eyes penetrate mine searchingly. Though his gaze is intense, it’s not in a creepy way. More just keen interest. I decide that, as much as we’ve met before and my inhibitions are currently on a minibreak, I mustn’t give too much away. After all, the ‘Belfast Strangler’ was utterly gorgeous – and a serial killer. And though I know that was a fictional storyline, there’s a remarkable physical resemblance between the two of them.

I take a sip from my drink, enjoying the alcoholic heat of the gin and the bubbles teasing my lips. ‘I’m actually moving to Birmingham for a new job.’