The martini went straight to her head. They were sitting in the third-floor bar, in the corner of a black button-back banquette. It wasn’t a particularly stylish room, the decor modern but more functional than pretty. Romy didn’t care. It was toasty warm, the alcohol had loosened her tongue – loosened Finch’s too – and the conversation buzzed and flowed between them. She sensed a difference in him tonight – as if he had let something go. It made him more expansive, the light in his eyes sparky and flirtatious.

They had munched their way through a large bowl of crunchy hot, salty potato wedges dipped in garlic mayonnaise and downed a couple of cocktails each, when Finch suddenly picked up her hand and held it lightly in his lap. It seemed like such an intimate gesture. More intimate than if he had reached down and kissed her.

‘You know,’ he said, not looking at her, ‘being alone for a while, you forget how much fun it is, doing things with someone else.’

Romy squeezed his hand, letting out a long breath. She looked up and his eyes met hers. Neither spoke for a moment, then he whispered, ‘I would love to kiss you, Romy. But I can’t. Not here.’

Her breath caught in her throat. ‘Against club rules?’ She felt his finger gently stroking the back of her hand, the small movement almost unbearably seductive.

He gave a quiet groan. ‘I wish I’d never suggested that stupid play. I wanted to impress you, Romy, do something special, something away from the village, so you wouldn’t think me just this bumpkin colonel character. But here we are, stranded in the city, and I can’t even kiss you.’

She began to laugh as he put his arm round her shoulders and they moved close together on the banquette.

‘We mustn’t miss the train,’ he said, bringing his watch up to his face in the half-light. ‘Ten thirty-six, isn’t it?’

Romy automatically did the same. They both stared at each other.

‘Oops,’ said Romy.

It was already seventeen minutes past. There was no way they could make it to Victoria in time, even if they left this instant and by some miracle found a taxi. They hadn’t yet paid the bill and they needed to collect their jackets from the downstairs cloakroom where they were hopefully drying off.

‘We could see about staying here tonight,’ he said, his voice tentative. ‘That, or the milk train …’

Romy tried to think through the options, but the cocktails and the sexual frisson she felt for the man beside her weren’t helping. Her look must have appeared doubtful to Finch, because he immediately held up his hands.