Before she’d had a chance to say any more, Michael seemed to shake himself. ‘I’m starving,’ he said. ‘What about that pork belly?’

7

‘Maybe we should arrive separately,’ Finch joked. They were sitting round the oak central island in his kitchen. He’d poured her a glass of white wine and pushed a bowl of pistachios towards her.

Romy laughed. ‘We were invited separately and nobody’s aware we even know each other. So if we arrive together won’t it just seem like coincidence?’

‘Hmm, well, almost nobody.’ He looked a bit sheepish. ‘I did tell my friend Jenny. But I don’t think she’ll have told anyone.’ He gave a wry laugh. ‘Although who am I kidding?’

Romy was enjoying herself, her eyes drawn to the many photographs on the walls of Finch’s family. ‘That’s Nell?’ she asked, pointing to a frame with an attractive blonde and a girl of about twelve, with a cheeky smile and wheat-coloured hair in a thick plait.

‘Yes, and Gracie, my stepdaughter. She lives in Manchester with her husband, Sam. I adore her.’ Romy noted the tenderness in Finch’s voice as he gazed at the photograph. ‘She’s the only family I have.’

Cathy and Keith’s home was above the delicatessen on the main street of the village. The place wasn’t smart – the walls could have done with a freshen-up, the furniture had seen better days – but Romy instantly felt at home as she sank into the huge sofa and accepted a large glass of wine from their host. Keith was loud and overweight, with a manic, laughing energy. He never talked about anything but food, never did anything that wasn’t food-related – it was his lifelong obsession. Cathy was quiet and blonde and well organized, the perfect foil for her husband.

Supper consisted of a huge home-cooked ham with baked potatoes and numerous salads. Finch sat across the wooden table from her, flanked by Jenny and Cathy. Romy had Keith to her left and their teenage son, Louie, on her right. It was impossible not to catch Finch’s eye over the candles. She felt suddenly lighthearted from the wine and their innocent secret as the conversation flowed and laughter rang out above John Denver on Keith’s Bose stereo.

Jenny was talking to her. ‘How are you finding village life, Romy? Don’t you miss the bright lights of London?’

Romy thought her smile a little forced. ‘Not at all,’ she replied. ‘I needed a change of scene, a new direction to my life.’

Jenny nodded, clearly unconvinced. ‘You won’t get bored with all us bumpkins and run back to the excitements of the city?’

Romy couldn’t resist giving Finch a grin. Life in the country was far more exciting than she’d previously imagined.