“Nice that the school budgets for this,” said Mark at her elbow when she turned away from a friendly gossip with a group of PE teachers she hardly ever got the chance to speak to—their department was based at the opposite end of the site, a long way from Walden’s usual haunts. Mark had a glass of prosecco in one hand and two mince pies in the other.

“The staff social association funds it, actually,” Walden said. “Did you pay your subs?”

Mark laughed. “I’m a freeloader. Are you going to the party tonight?”

Walden was too senior to skip office parties. Besides, it would probably be fun once she got there. Teachers at the end of term were very ready to let loose. She’d booked her train ticket weeks ago. “Of course. Are you?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Mark said. He scooped two fresh glasses of prosecco off the nearby trolley, pressed one into Walden’s hand, and grinned at her.

So, yes, she knew. She was thirty-eight, for goodness’ sakes. She wasn’t a complete fool. A man like Mark did not repeatedly seek you out in both work and social situations, invite himself into your flat for late-night drinks on a flimsy excuse, and press you on whether you were going to be in London that night, without a definite ulterior motive. And it was a little flattering.

All right, honestly, it was very flattering.

Mark obviously wasn’t boyfriend material—Walden felt ridiculous just thinking the word ‘boyfriend’; she was much too old for boyfriends—but he was charming and handsome and a rather good magician, and altogether, honestly, a more impressive pull than she would have thought herself capable of. The same thing had been true of Laura Kenning. Like bloody buses, she thought as she did her makeup in her wood-panelled bedroom after the staff drinks were over. Nothing for years and then two come along at once.

She had to laugh. She’d gone for a sleeveless black dress for the party, mostly because it was the only party outfit she owned that still looked nice and wasn’t obviously twenty years old. She had in fact acquired the dress twenty years ago, but it had been second-hand then, and now it was interestingly vintage. She automatically shrugged a smart black cardigan over the top to hide her tattoos, because this was a work event. She hesitated over jewellery—her normal work studs were perfectly nice earrings, did she really need to—?