He poured her a whisky and handed it over, their fingers brushing one another. That simple touch softened his anger and, by the look on her face, it’d had a similar effect on her.

She stared at the amber liquid for a moment before setting down the glass, untasted.

‘Maya Villan is my pen name. I use it on my blog. Joanne is my real name. It’s not a crime to have a pen name,’ she said quietly.

‘It’s not a crime to have a past either,’ Greg said. ‘Even if it contains regrettable actions.’ He met her gaze. ‘Isn’t there something in your past you’re not happy about?’

Her face clouded over, indicating that there probably was. She looked as though she might reveal it, then stopped.

‘The dreary dramas of dead yesterdays,’ she said instead, with a wry smile.

‘Did you write that in your blog?’ he said, his mood lightening at her expression.

She shook her head. ‘No, I stole it from a book by someone else.’

When she laughed, he found himself joining in.

‘To the dreary dramas of dead yesterdays.’ He offered up his glass for a toast.

She clinked her glass against his and they sipped their whiskies in unison.

In the quiet aftermath, he tentatively asked if she’d like to eat out tonight. ‘The hotel does excellent seafood. Garlic crab claws are a favourite of mine. I could call Malcolm and book us a table,’ he said, brightening at the idea.

‘You don’t mind showing me off in public, then?’ she said with an enticing smile.

‘Only when I’ve had a good look at you first.’

She set down her glass and pulled him to her.

What followed rattled the table, sending what he recognized as Caroline’s tea cups to crash and spill their remains across the flagstone floor.

Afterwards, he gathered her to him, pressing her face to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

Something had changed between them, he acknowledged. The game had moved on, but how long would – or could – they keep on playing it?

She knew now about Caroline, or at least some of it. If Caroline was willing to reveal the story of the miscarriage, might she not also reveal other truths about him?

From what she’d said out at the car, she hadn’t done that. Wouldn’t do it. She’d promised him. She had his back.

‘So,’ he heard Joanne say, ‘shall I get dressed for dinner?’ She was smiling up at him.

‘Definitely. Malcolm doesn’t serve women who aren’t wearing their knickers, regardless of how beautiful they are.’

‘And how would he know I wasn’t wearing them?’ she joked back. ‘We could keep it a secret.’

Among all the other secrets, he thought as she went off to get ready. Pushing that thought to the back of his mind, he called Malcolm.