Grace dismissed her attempt. “Lucy, the man is interested. He took all the trouble to identify your perfume—then the greater problem of tracing where to buy it. And now, look at this!” She swept an arm across the two dozen long-stemmed reds that she was quickly arranging. “As well as the taxi! I’m sorry, but you can’t blame a guy for his workload. He was teaching, wasn’t he? Simon says he had barely a day off for the whole of last month. He must have done something particular to arrange a free day today. And how romantic: he’s obviously taking you somewhere very special.”

But Lucy’s strong new heart was suffering an attack of nerves. Risking her feelings for Alex Stafford was complex. The possible breach of professionalism, the uncertainty about his private life, imparted heavy warnings. She looked at Grace, who was stifling a grin, and suddenly cottoned on to something. “What do you know about this?” She flashed the note in her flatmate’s direction.

“I haven’t got time to tell you. You’ll be late.”

“Did he set this up with you?”

Grace grinned without replying, and Lucy chased her into the kitchen.

“There has to be some reason why neither you nor any of my closest friends were free to have lunch with me today. Were you so sure I’d get a better offer?”

“Well”—she noticed the roses were thornless as she started arranging them for Lucy and softened—“I do know that he had to call on every favor to get a clear day in the week for your birthday. But I didn’t tell him at Christmas what perfume you wear, and I don’t know what he’s planning for you today.” She looked at her friend. “And only a simpleton could doubt he’s interested, Lucy. He works twenty-four/seven, right? Plus he’s finishing a PhD. Not masses of free time there. Besides, I think he’s extremely cautious of your health—which is sensible after the last fiasco. He wants to get you well—not woo you to your death. But somehow he still manages to find the time to call you every other day. And isn’t it sweet, really? Reassuringly old-fashioned in a world where everyone’s in such a rush, and affairs are over before they’ve begun. He’s not like other men. Of course, if you’re having second thoughts yourself, I’ll keep the roses.”

Lucy shot her a look of agony. “Two or three phone calls in a week is not every other day! And he doesn’t really say anything.”

“Which is just the point! Now go on. Shoo!” Grace laughed back at her wholeheartedly. “Put on something pretty—but warm! Cab’s waiting.”