Megan feels mortified at revealing the title of her 99p bonkbuster. She tries to think of another book. Something highbrow. ‘I doubt you’ve heard of it,’ she says, buying herself some time.

‘Try me. Go on. I’m good with books. Let me guess. Is it . . .’

‘Pride and Prejudice, if you must know.’

‘Ooh. Who wrote that?’

Megan tries to think, and is about to say Jane Eyre, but stops herself because she isn’t sure that is correct. Her phone makes a pinging sound, distracting her, and she wonders who could be texting her at this time of the morning. Taking it from her handbag she sees it’s a notification from Tinder.

Her heart skips.

It’s from him. The one who calls himself Max084. She senses the man next to her reading her phone.

She turns the other way and opens the Tinder app with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. She knows her profile isn’t entirely truthful about her age. Her picture is from five years back when she was thirty. Two small little lies. Who could they hurt? Besides, her friend Lucy once told her she still looked thirty. So there. Megan has given herself the profile name CassandraH and typed her messages in the same way that Cassandra speaks in her books.

She opens Max084’s message.

Hello beautiful.

She feels a warm feeling stirring inside and turns away to face the window.

Hello, Max. Are you back in London?

I am. Flew in this morning. We have to meet. I’m aching for you.

Megan suppresses a gasp. No one has ever asked to meet her before.

Please say yes.

Megan’s mind goes into overdrive. What should she do?

That would be lovely. I’ll check my calendar.

He is typing a response.

I’ll bring the peacock feather.

Megan almost shrieks.

I’ve booked us a table for tomorrow night at one of London’s most exclusive restaurants.

Megan blinks.

Please tell me you’ll come. I have so much to tell you. Please say yes.

Megan has had such a run of rotten luck recently. Her cat died and her summer holiday was cancelled because the travel company went bust. She spent her holidays all by herself in her tiny flat. She drifts into the fantasy of how lovely it would be to have someone like Cassandra’s Max to look after and pamper her.

Megan?

She jumps from her fugue. What does she have to lose? Her fingers tap on the phone:

My darling Max. I would love to meet you for supper.

You’re my princess.

You’re my prince.

I’ll be in touch tomorrow with the details.

She selects an emoji face with a kiss and he replies with the same.