The mood lightens for the rest of the meal, both of them enjoying the spark of electricity that still leaps between them every time their hands accidentally meet, although Emily doesn’t manage to finish her veal, meaning Rupert gets to eat the rest. It’s an unexpected pleasure – Caro would only ever order a Caesar salad, and while she would never finish it, Rupert doesn’t find leftover salad quite so appealing. They talk about Sadie and Miles, about how Emily must meet the children properly soon (a statement that Emily admits makes her nervous – she has zero experience when it comes to entertaining children), and Emily asks about Rupert’s job, but he changes the subject. He really doesn’t want to talk about work on a Friday evening, even leaving his phone in his jacket pocket so he can’t check his emails.

‘I could get used to this married life lark,’ Emily says with a grin, nudging him in the side as they head back home, and Rupert thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’s won her over on staying at home instead of working. They are both a little tipsy, after the wine, some grappa, and Rupert’s bright idea of an Irish coffee to finish the evening off. The walk back to the taxi rank takes longer than anticipated as they keep stopping to kiss under the streetlamps, like teenagers, unable to keep their hands off each other.

As they step out of the taxi, Emily sighs and leans against Rupert’s shoulder. ‘Are you going to take me out for dinner every Friday night?’

‘I don’t know about that,’ Rupert laughs, ‘what will I get in return?’ He leers at her and she shrieks, kicking up gravel as she runs up the driveway towards the front door, before he catches her and they crash against the solid oak door, kissing, bodies pressed hard together. Emily breaks away, her cheeks flushed and pink as she fumbles for her key.

‘Come on, it’s bloody freezing out here now.’ She shoves open the door, kicking off her shoes and making her way towards the sitting room. ‘I forgot to tell you,’ she calls out as Rupert takes off his jacket and moves to follow her. Maybe they can go straight upstairs and finish what they started on the doorstep? ‘Your mother left a message. Something about Christmas… Oh.’

‘What is it?’ Rupert stands behind Emily, where she is frozen in front of the fireplace. He follows her gaze, to where, on a mantelpiece that Rupert is sure held only candles and a tiny Tiffany lamp earlier this evening, Caro’s face beams out from a photograph. Not just any photograph – framed in heavy silver, it’s Rupert and Caro’s wedding photo.

Chapter Fifteen