She felt the heat of his hand through the thin material of her T-shirt and leaned towards him, chin raised, her lips parting in invitation… waiting for his response… and in that second of waiting, she knew she’d got it wrong… he reared back, mouth thinning in distaste, eyes narrowing in disgust. She’d got it all wrong… he’d not been reaching for her, he’d been putting a hand out to prevent her falling in… to prevent a woman old enough to be his mother from making a stupid step and falling into the damn chamber.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t managed to stop the pathetic stupid woman from making an absolute fool of herself.

With a cry of anguish, she pulled away. His hand had tightened on her T-shirt, she could feel the material stretch as he tried to stop her and she wrenched it away, then ran as she didn’t think she’d ever run before, her feet barely touching the ground as she flew on the heat of mortification. She heard him call out, then the heavy sound of his feet crunching on the path as he chased after her, but he was no match for her speed and within a minute, she had left him behind.

Back in the hotel, she went straight to her room, grabbed her clothes from the wardrobe and bureau, changed quickly and jammed everything into her bags. Humiliation stung with almost unbearable pain and all she wanted to do was leave, to go home, hide away to lick her wounds.

At reception, she left a note for Amelia, explaining that something had come up that required her to leave early. Her brain was too fraught to come up with a reasonable explanation, she’d think of one before speaking to her next. She settled her bill and headed out to the car park.

Pines from an overhanging spruce tree decorated her windscreen. She brushed them off, wiping her hand carelessly on the leg of her trousers and sat into the car, throwing her bags into the footwell of the passenger seat. There had been no early morning text from Jack, he was probably still fast asleep. She took out her mobile to tell him that she was on her way, then changed her mind, she’d be home before he woke.

She turned the radio on, scrolling through stations to find music then increasing the volume so that the sound filled the car and her head, leaving no room for recriminations, for scalding guilt and searing gut-wrenching humiliation.

Despite bank holiday Monday traffic, she made good time. The music helped to drown the demons and, by the time she pulled up near her house, she was calmer and suitably embarrassed at her behaviour. It would have made a good story to share at parties if it had only happened to someone else. Now all she wanted was to forget about it.