Archer stood and warmly kissed the woman on her offered cheek. “Mrs D, good to see you too. You haven’t aged a day.”

She tutted and waved off his compliment the way women do when they are not-so-secretly pleased. “Oh, rubbish, you cheeky boy. I look a right fright.” She patted her bright red fluffy curls. “I forgot my umbrella and had to walk all the way from the bus stop in this wet muck.” She tilted her head to the side and regarded him, smiling with obvious pride.

As though she suddenly remembered her manners, she turned towards Chloe. “Hello. You must be Alan’s girlfriend. Madison, isn’t it?” Oh, god! Chloe wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or flattered that Mrs D had assumed she was Archer’s girlfriend—and a famous film star.

To his credit, Archer handled the faux pas just as graciously as he seemed to do everything else. How he avoided embarrassing all three of them was a minor miracle, but he did. He took Mrs D’s hand in his and feigning conspiracy, whispered loudly, “Actually, Mrs D, this is my new friend, if you get my meaning. Chloe.”

“Ooohhh,” she said, as though Archer and Chloe were engaged in some sort of illicit affair. “I shall keep it under wraps,” she added, glancing about to see who else was listening; it was no one. “Chloe,” she said in hushed tones, “your boyfriend was one of my favourite students.”

Oh, so that’s where Mrs D fits in. Archer shook his head and sat down.

Chloe rested her chin on her hand, “Oh, do tell, Mrs D. Maybe you would like to join us?”

“Oh, no, I can’t, love. I’m working, see?” She laughed loudly. “I’m supposed to be taking your order. Our John will give me a stern talking-to if I stay any longer chit-chatting. What can I get you?”

Archer ordered a pint and Chloe ordered red wine. On Mrs D’s recommendation, she’d gone for the tempranillo over the pinot. When Mrs D retreated, Chloe fixed Archer with a look. “So, Alan …” She let the name hang in the air, a slight smile tugging at her lips.

He raised both hands in surrender. “Now you know two of my secrets.”

“Two?” She was playing dumb and she knew that he knew that.

“Uh-huh. My age isn’t common knowledge, as you know.” This time she raised her hands in surrender. “And I was born plain old Alan David Tate.”

“What’s wrong with Alan?”

“Nothing. It is a perfectly serviceable name. But, you see, when I went off to drama school, I had it in my head that I needed something more … well, impactful. Actually, my mum came up with Archer.”

“Your mum?” An image of the slight frown that seemed permanently etched on Cecily’s face popped into Chloe’s head. Archer nodded, chuckling softly.

“Yes.”

“Hang on. Seriously, your mother, Cecily—the woman who could terrify a grown man at fifty paces just by looking at him—your mother came up with your stage name?”