My chest tightens with a mixture of shock and regret. I hadn’t meant my words to come out like that. I’d wanted to be cheerful when he came home, ask him if he wanted a cup of tea, talk about the new job he’s going for, but after being by myself all night and staring at page after page of properties, my head feels foggy. That, and the fact that I can’t stop thinking about the text from Sara. I had completely dismissed it from my mind once Connor had explained who she was but after hearing that the senior art director is a man, I can’t shake this uneasy feeling. Am I just remembering wrong? Or did he lie to me?

I’m leaving the office the following day when I get a text message.

I’m sorry about last night, baby. I shouldn’t have snapped at you but I was just really tired. Things have eased up today so I’ve left early and I’m having a drink at Rossi’s. Fancy joining me?

I smile as I change direction and turn from Sloane Square towards the King’s Road. Don’t fuck things up tonight, I tell myself as I wait at the traffic lights opposite Peter Jones, no more paranoia.

Connor is sitting outside when I arrive, a crisp early spring sunlight illuminating his face. When he sees me, he stands up and gives me a long, lingering kiss.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers as he pulls away.

‘There’s nothing to be sorry about,’ I say, taking a seat at the rickety wooden table. ‘I was being a grouch. Anyway, let’s start again, shall we?’

I realize, as I say those words, that we’ve been doing a lot of that lately: having arguments and starting again. It’s exhausting.

‘Okay. Now, Rocco has already been out to inform me that tonight’s specials are wild boar tortellini and spaghetti vongole,’ he says, pouring me a glass of water from the jug. ‘But I told him that we both know Vanessa will just stick to her usual.’

‘How rude,’ I say, making light of his comment though the meaning behind it – that I’m so predictable – stings. ‘In that case, I shall have the vongole.’

‘Living dangerously,’ says Connor, gesturing to Rocco, the elderly maître d’, who has run this restaurant since the 1970s. ‘I think I’ll have the same.’

After we order, we sit for a moment in silence. There are many things I want to talk to Connor about, but I’m fearful. We’ve been so out of sync these last few weeks and everything I say comes out the opposite of what I intended.

‘So, Damian says you’re having a hard time at work,’ says Connor, breaking the silence. ‘You should have said something.’