‘Maturity is very important for me, you see, Lucas. In fact, most of my partners have been many years older.’ They had been sitting at opposite ends of her futon at the time, sipping fruit tea from spotty mugs after a companionable afternoon stroll along the backs. It was Lucas’s first visit to her flat. The domestic intimacy was intoxicating. When she followed these remarks by reaching across the space between them to trace her fingers down his cheek, the sensation was as electrifying as the burst of certainty that he had no wish to be part of a mere procession of ‘mature men’ passing through this woman’s life. He wanted more. He wanted to be centre-stage. Ideally forever. ‘That feels good,’ he began huskily, falling silent, mesmerised, as Heidi withdrew the hand and slid off the sofa onto the floor.

‘A man who knows who he is,’ she continued in her calm, matter-of-fact way, positioning herself on her knees directly in front of him, placing one hand lightly on the top of each of his legs. ‘A man who is good at what he does.’ She gently pushed his legs apart, edged herself into the space this created and then tipped her face up for a kiss, pulling back after they had barely got going. ‘A man with a big brain.’ Instead of more kissing, which was what Lucas, heart pounding, eyes half closed, had been anticipating – aching for – she got to her feet.

‘I would like you to come with me,’ she declared, taking hold of his hand. Lucas allowed himself to be led. They entered an adjoining room containing a compact double bed, and she began at once to undress, continuing to talk in her disarmingly precise way. ‘I hope you know, Lucas, that the brain is the most powerful sex organ in the human body. For a woman anyway. What we imagine is what turns us on. And I must tell you that you have made my imagination work very much.’

‘And you mine.’ He laughed, exultant, reaching for his own shirt buttons, only to find her slim fingers closing round his to stop him. ‘Could you stay dressed for me please, Lucas? I would find that arousing. To be naked, with you clothed. For a while. Would you mind?’

No, he wouldn’t mind. Dear God, a celibate saint wouldn’t have minded.