Romy gave a wry smile. It had been so strange, seeing him this time. Both of them had been on edge, neither committing to bonding with each other, as they would have done on a planned trip home. Michael had taken up all of their energy. Now, torn between disappointment at her son’s only fleeting visit – she wanted to blurt out, ‘Like you care!’ – and sadness that it would be months before she saw him again, she felt bereft. Dragging him into her arms, she said, ‘I hope the new job goes well, sweetheart. Let me know.’

Rex hugged her close. ‘I’m really sorry I’m leaving you in the lurch.’ He pulled away and looked intently into her face. ‘You do understand, don’t you? Leo’s livid with me.’

‘He’ll get over it,’ she said, hoping she was right. She didn’t want this wretched situation, which was nobody’s fault, to come between her sons. But recently she’d sensed Leo had grown up, while Rex remained stubbornly teenaged, clinging to a student-like existence, where he wandered from job to job – even though he claimed this one was different ‒ and only worked because he had to.

‘You’ve got Daniel, and I’m sure Dad’ll come on in leaps and bounds once he gets out of that dreary ward,’ Rex went on, his guilty conscience tidying things up neatly so he didn’t have to worry. ‘He’s a tough old bastard, don’t forget.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ Romy said, kissing his cheek, her lips remembering the countless times they had performed the same act of love since the day he was born, her heart wanting to hold her boy tightly in her arms and prevent him from leaving her for the other side of the world.

‘Whoa,’ Romy whispered, as Finch entered the lobby. He looked so handsome, like James Bond in his dinner jacket and black tie. The taxi had dropped her only five minutes before and she felt like someone on a late-night illicit assignation, aware of the watchful eyes of the two staff members behind the reception desk. The thought made her smile and her body buzz with anticipation. There seemed something end-of-the-world-ish about tonight.

‘What’s so funny?’ he asked, as he kissed her cheek, his breath wafting brandy.

‘They probably think I’m a lady of the night, summoned on some dodgy app while your wife snores innocently in your Hampshire vicarage,’ she whispered.

Finch grinned and took her arm. ‘If so, you’re a very classy one.’

The room was warm, the place much more welcoming than Romy remembered from that rainy April night. She sat on the bed and watched Finch take off his jacket and hang it up, stuff his black tie and cufflinks into a pocket.

‘Fun dinner?’