Defeated by the cake, Esther sat back, eyeing her companion. Marcus was not a worrier. He excelled at being in the moment, perhaps because he was an actor, she mused, or perhaps because he was genuinely comfortable in his own skin. And an extremely handsome skin at that, as she could now truly testify. After their love-making that morning, she hadn’t been able to resist saying as much, offering teasing praise at his popping muscles. It was just leftovers from the Visigoth training, he had assured her in his jokey way, promising that the slothful, pot-bellied, bent copper assisting the Dutch police would soon emerge triumphant.

‘You know how they say the real passion in a relationship only lasts for six months?’

‘Do they? Right.’ He threw her a quizzical look. ‘Do you mind if I eat all this?’

‘Not at all. Be my guest.’

‘But please, do go on.’

‘So, all I was thinking is, if that is true, then not meeting someone very often might help spread the time span out a bit.’

‘Good logic. I like it.’ He licked his fork, assuming a comical frown of concentration. ‘We barely see each other. We like it when we do. A lot. Six months becomes seven. Maybe even eight.’ Under the small wooden café table, his legs found hers and gave a quick sandwiching squeeze of her knees between his.

‘Exactly. And, Marcos…’

‘Aha… Marcos, is it? Now I am on my guard.’ He laughed, pushing aside the empty plate and signalling for the bill.

‘That just slipped out… what I just wanted to say was… well… to thank you – genuinely – for such a fun weekend and for not minding my venting… about Dylan and so on. Not in the spirit of our agreement, I know, but Lily is still wobbly and it’s sort of easier to talk to a disinterested party and—’

‘Esther, stop it. There is nothing to thank me for.’ His dark eyes were serious for once. ‘You have listened to me too, right? Boring on about Lola and her bloody mother… it sounds like you have been through the proverbial mill and, for the record, if any loser of a man ever dares to break Lola’s heart, I shall not be accountable for my actions. In fact, I may need locking up.’

‘Good. I mean, not about you being locked up. But about understanding. Thank you.’ When the bill arrived, Esther tried and failed to hijack it, but there was no time to argue. Marcus quickly took charge of her bag, a small old sports holdall of Dylan’s, which they had successfully retrieved from the museum locker, and they headed back out into the thrum of the city centre.