‘No. He just introduced himself.’ Esther tweaked the creases in her dress, which was sky blue and close-fitting and had left an indefensible hole in her meagre finances. She was the thinnest she had ever been, from the conflicting excitement and stress of loving Stephen, and rather hoping that the extravagance of the dress purchase might bolster her resolve to stay that way, as well as giving pleasure to the man who she believed would one day be her husband.

‘It will soon be just you and me,’ Stephen murmured, the back of his hand brushing hers as they made their way across the shop, giving Esther one of the electric shivers that reminded her why they were where they were: love. It took sacrifice and pain. Patience. It certainly bore no resemblance to the two six-month relationships that had featured and fizzled out during her time at Exeter. Kevin and Ian, bass guitarist and football nut respectively; they seemed inept, unsophisticated toddlers in comparison with Stephen. This was the real thing. ‘I’ve rung the hotel and asked for champagne,’ Stephen whispered, ‘to be ready for when we arrive. And one day, it will always be that way, Esther. Okay?’ For one long, heart-tugging instant, his deep-set, blue eyes, handsomely offset by his wavy, fair hair, found and held hers, before he asked if she could top up glasses and dived back into the throng.

It was three days later that a postcard, sealed in an envelope, arrived in the communal post box of the dingy Shepherds Bush basement flat Esther shared with Shona and two girls who had advertised in The Lady about having a couple of spare rooms. Snatching the envelope out of the pile of bills and junk mail, Esther had somehow known at once to whom the exuberant handwriting belonged.

Dear Esther,

I have taken liberties and elicited your address from your employers through underhand means. This is because I would like the opportunity to take you out to dinner. Cambridge is not so far from London and the train service (I have checked) is good. Name your day (except Thursdays when I have to deliver a late-ish lecture) and preferred time, and I shall be there. Or phone, if you want to say no and need persuading. I have put my college number and extension at the top of this note.

Until soon, I sincerely hope.

Lucas

The image on the other side of the postcard was of a knight on bended knee before an imperious-looking princess, the tresses of her golden hair and long blue gown flowing. The knight’s head was raised, his eyes fixed on the princess’s face as he pressed her small white hand to his lips. It took Esther a few moments to notice the tiny speech bubble, etched on the dark background in biro beside the knight’s mouth, and containing a single word: Spellbound.