She’d thought he had felt a little interest in her, possibly, from the very beginning; but it was hard to be certain. Alex was the kind of doctor who scored excellence in his bedside manner, but he was impossible to read personally. She noticed that, if anything, he said less to her than to others—seemed a fraction shyer, or perhaps hesitant, which she read as mild attraction. But then, this might be precisely because she had no obvious boyfriend who came to visit, nor family—just Grace and a string of joking colleagues, half of them gay. Perhaps he wanted to show that he was not being overfriendly—a warning not to misinterpret his excellent care of her as his patient, and to define the limits of their professional relationship. That made most sense, in fact. Until she considered those flowers he’d brought her after her operation. So the barometer swung the other way, and she considered afresh whether she’d imagined more in his looks than there was to find.

Then the impasse broke with the invitation, at half-past nine on Monday, October 20: “Lucy, Courtney Denham asked me to have a word with you about your medicine, which gives me the perfect excuse to ask you if you’d like a bite of lunch? I don’t have a lot of time, I’m afraid, but we could find some place away from the hospital where we can rely on the kitchen’s standards of hygiene? I know a place close by that’s perfect.” His manner was so absurdly easy, and she had surprised herself how quickly she’d accepted, how pleased she was to be asked. Lucy so rarely risked getting too involved with anyone: she was the girl of countless friends across the globe, and several male admirers—but the lover of not a one of them. Affairs were kept as flings, emotions always held at bay. As soon as anything looked serious, she’d run a mile. But then, he was her doctor, so she satisfied herself quickly that involvement was impossible and a lunch date solidly safe.

So the quick bite was taken in the lovely garden at Dan’s Restaurant on Sydney Street, five minutes from the Brompton, on a perfect October, sunshine day: two simple courses with mineral water. And, she recalled, the sound of her own voice bubbling through some satirical vignettes about her life and her experiences in South America, which seemed to keep him entertained. Highly unusual for her to open up, but she’d been witty, she knew.