‘Of course not.’

‘Outrageous,’ she tutted. Marc had been late to a meeting on account of sitting with a terminal patient, literally holding their hand as they died. She forked another heaped bite and gave an immediate groan of appreciation. ‘Ohmigod, so good.’

His eyes gleamed appreciatively. ‘So how about you? Was Tove right just now? Are you deliberately sabotaging your own dates?’

‘Kris, no one could have foreseen what was coming our way today. Not even Hanna. Long-forgotten husbands waking up from comas is not all in a day’s work for me.’

‘No, I guess not,’ he conceded, looking up at her from beneath his ridiculously long eyelashes as he twirled his noodles. ‘All the same, you really need to start insisting on extra pay if you’re gonna be doing extra hours. You help her out a lot. A lot a lot.’

‘I know.’

‘You know – but you won’t,’ he said, watching her, knowing her too well. ‘You’re too soft.’

‘It’s not a matter of being soft. I just . . . don’t mind if things over-run. It feels sort of wrong monetizing looking after children.’

Kris burst out laughing. ‘But that is the very definition of your job!’

She couldn’t help but crack a smile. She had walked into that one. ‘You know what I mean. Those kids are so cute.’

‘Elise is not cute! She is a diva-in-training. Mariah Carey in miniature and fucking terrifying.’

‘Okay, fine, but Linus then – you haven’t seen his puppy-dog eyes. He didn’t win the times table test today and he was heartbroken. Big, fat tears rolling down his cheeks . . .’ She trailed a finger down her own cheek, her mouth downturned sadly to make her point.

Kris sighed and shook his head, looking entirely unconvinced, before suddenly stabbing the air decisively with his fork. ‘Give him a booty call.’

She frowned in disbelief. ‘Linus?’

He banged the ends of his cutlery on the table. ‘Ivan!’

‘Ha, yeah right.’ Quickly she stuffed another overloaded forkful into her mouth, trying to distract herself from his words with a taste-bud explosion.

He dipped his head and looked closely at her. ‘Listen, I know you love that family, but you need to start imposing some boundaries. Puppy-dog eyes or not, Tove’s right – you’ve got a life to live too. You need to start saying no. Except when it’s to a guy – then you need to start saying yes.’ He reached over and put a hand on hers. ‘You know what I’m saying.’

She nodded. She knew exactly what he was saying.

He winked at her kindly, heart-stoppingly. ‘Remember – it’s just a job, and you’re just the nanny, Bell.’

It was exactly 5.28 a.m. as she closed the door behind her with a shiver, holding the bike steady with one hand as she tucked her trousers into her socks with the other. She glanced up and down the arm’s-width narrow street but no one else was around: a few bottle crates were stacked in a tower, ready for pickup, and the hand-painted A-frame advertising the craft beers in the Star Bar was propped against the wall. Quickly, she stepped on the pedal and swung her leg over the bike, gliding silently past the tiny, narrow antique shop selling ceramics and glassware, past the ancient wooden door of the rare comic emporium sited thirty feet below the street in an old wine cellar.