‘I didn’t mean … We’d get two rooms, of course.’ He searched her face. ‘I wasn’t suggesting …’ He frowned. ‘Or we could go to Waterloo, get a train to Havant and a taxi from there. The trains go later on the Portsmouth line.’

The thought of a dreary journey stretching into the small hours, with aching limbs in still damp clothes, did not appeal to Romy. ‘We’d be very late …’

Finch pushed the table away and stood up. ‘Listen, I’ll go and check if they’ve got any rooms first, before we make a decision.’

He left Romy feeling slightly apprehensive. Ten minutes before, her body had been on fire, aching to be alone with Finch. But suddenly being thrown together overnight, albeit in separate rooms …

When Finch came back, he was looking nervous, too. ‘Well, the good news is, they have a free twin. The bad news is, that’s all they have.’

‘Right.’ Romy didn’t know what to say.

‘So you take the room. I’ll bunk off and find somewhere else.’

‘Heavens, no, that’s ridiculous, Finch. It’s still chucking it down.’ She could see the rain splashing in puddles on the outside terrace. ‘Anywhere you find that’s close will cost you a second mortgage.’ She hesitated. ‘We can manage. Two beds, take it in turns to use the bathroom. It’ll be like a school trip.’ She was trying to make light of the situation, trying to hide the nervous tingle she felt running through her body.

But as she watched Finch’s face, she thought he didn’t seem entirely on board with her analogy.

‘I didn’t mean …’ She touched his arm. ‘Let’s give it a go,’ she said encouragingly, inwardly squirming as she thought of the embarrassment of sharing with a man she barely knew. She didn’t even have a clean pair of knickers and a toothbrush – the duo her mother insisted was all a girl needed for a night away from home. Don’t let me snore or dribble, she prayed.

Finch was self-consciously twirling the room key in his hands. ‘Shall we go up, or do you want another drink?’

Romy shook her head.

The bedroom was like the bar downstairs: clean, neat, functional … and chilly. Romy sat down on the end of one of the single beds, Finch on the other. She looked at him. He raised an eyebrow.

‘So, come on, what did you get up to on school trips?’ Finch asked, a mischievous smile on his face.

She grinned back. ‘Oh, smoke, snog boys, the usual.’

He laughed loudly. ‘OK. Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.’

‘I bet you got up to much worse.’

‘I wish. No school trips for me … I was home-schooled by my mother until I was fourteen.’

‘Wow, unusual. Where did you live?’