Thirty-three years old. She felt a thrum of panic. What if?

What if she falls for Douglas and he doesn’t fall for her?

What if he has someone? No one’s told her he doesn’t. She’s brought up the subject of Lottie’s situation a couple of times with Cassie and the others, in a kind of roundabout way, but no one’s mentioned Douglas’s domestic arrangement. Why would they discuss Grace’s business with her? They barely know her.

What if Kai doesn’t like him?

She didn’t mention the date to her son, but if it did come to something, she’d have to tread that line between needing his approval and not wanting him to get too attached in case it fizzled out. The last real relationship she had was three years ago, and that had been a disaster. She had thought two years was long enough, that Kai would understand, even expect her to start dating again. But no. He had a meltdown. Since then, it had been Tinder hook-ups if she could work up the energy.

This tiny bud of a thing with Grace Trelawney’s ex-boyfriend was different. She could feel it in the way her hands were shaking, her palms damp with sweat. She had to wash and dry them before doing up the mother-of-pearl buttons on her shirt. This meant something.

He had asked her not to tell Grace.

Did that mean something too?

Douglas was waiting for her. She reached up to kiss him on the cheek and his long fingers curled around her shoulder. They crossed the road and made their way towards Knightsbridge and the Italian restaurant he’d booked. They talked about this and that, Anna telling him about her day, trying to be witty and self-deprecating, and Douglas telling her about his. He wasn’t self-deprecating at all. From what he said, Anna gleaned that he was self-employed, worked in tech in some mysterious capacity, having decided that law didn’t suit him. The conversation as they walked along the busy Brompton Road didn’t exactly flow, but the traffic was noisy, there were a lot of people around, considering most of the shops were closed, and it was icy, so they were muffled in scarves. She had noticed that he was freshly shaved though, and she was encouraged by that.

She drank too fast. He didn’t. He was disconcertingly in control. She could appreciate him properly now; the fact of it being a date giving her permission to study his face, to appreciate its attractive asymmetry, to lose herself in his eyes. His mouth fascinated her. Between their main course and pudding, she felt emboldened to touch on more personal subjects, particularly the one that interested her most: the triangular relationship between him, Nick Ritchie and Grace Trelawney.

‘So, you seem to have a very civilized relationship with Grace.’