Now, when she went through to the en suite and rinsed her mouth with cold water – resisting the telltale smell of toothpaste – she stared at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed with wine and arousal, her eyes sparkling, her hair framing her face in as flattering a way as was possible with her awkward curls. Was she really going to make love to the man sitting on the sofa downstairs? Let him see her body in all its nakedness? Let him … She stopped. I haven’t made love to anyone but Michael since I was sixteen. The thought threatened to overwhelm her and she shook it off and hurried downstairs before she lost her nerve.

Finch glanced at her as she came into the room. ‘Everything OK?’ he asked. He was looking at her questioningly, but his smile was gentle and confident.

She went over to the sofa, standing quite still in front of him and holding his gaze, allowing herself to sink into those brown eyes until nothing else seemed to exist. The anxiety had gone, to be replaced by a patent desire. Her heartbeat quickened. Then she leant down and kissed him gently on the mouth. Finch took her hands and pulled her onto the cushions, returning her kisses with increasing intensity as he slid his hand beneath her shirt, making her gasp as she felt his thumb circle the smoothness of her naked breast. A moment later, his own shirt dispensed with, she was lying on his bare chest, delighting in the feel of his warm skin brushing against her nipples …

They never made it up to the freshly laundered sheets on the bed upstairs. Not till much later, that is, when they fell beneath the cool linen in a daze.

Finch turned on his side to face her, his hand across her body, tenderly stroking her thigh. It was early, the light beautiful as it came off the water, needle-bright against the white walls of her bedroom. The duvet felt cosy, his body warm as they relaxed against each other. Romy wanted to sing out with happiness.

‘That wasn’t as scary as I thought,’ he said softly.

‘You were as nervous as me? You didn’t show it.’

‘It’s not like we’re novices … but still …’

Finch didn’t go on and instead she heard a pigeon’s strident cooing from the ridge of her neighbour’s roof where he perched and strutted all day long.

Finch gently tipped her chin up to look into her face. ‘You were amazing, Romy.’

She blushed, bringing his hand to her lips for a kiss. It had been amazing.

‘I could make scrambled eggs,’ Romy said, when they had lain, for a while, in sleepy silence. ‘Or we could go to the café for a bacon sandwich.’