He didn’t ask. Instead, he rubbed his hand across his forehead in pantomime relief, adding a whew, in case she might have misunderstood, or perhaps he doubted his acting skills. ‘Good, I was afraid maybe you were here for a conference or something and would vanish to some far-flung part of the country.’

Relief that he didn’t ask where she worked vied with irritation that he hadn’t been interested enough to do so. She brushed aside both and smiled. ‘Only as far as Tottenham.’

‘You weren’t tempted to commute from Oxford to be near your family?’

Allison longed for the day when that one word, family, didn’t send a frisson of fear and loathing down her spine. For what she’d done, for what she was. She finished the champagne to wash the sensation away. ‘I don’t have anyone there any more.’ The waiter, as if pulled by an invisible string, appeared and topped up her glass. Not Peter’s, she noticed. He’d barely touched his. She should have stopped when she noticed his abstinence, certainly shouldn’t have drunk the second glass even faster. Whether it was the bubbles or the intense regard of the man sitting opposite, she became unusually talkative. ‘My parents died in an accident several years ago.’

He leaned towards her, his expression suddenly sombre. ‘I’m so sorry, that must have been tough. Do you have siblings?’

She lifted her glass and took a large mouthful. He was waiting for her answer. She shrugged. ‘No. I’m an only child.’

‘Tough… and lonely.’ He sat back but his eyes never left her face.

‘I think only children are more resilient and become self-contained from necessity. I’ve always been content with my own company.’ She dropped her eyes to her glass, watching as the bubbles rose and vanished. ‘I have friends, of course.’ A lie… she had one friend, Portia, who Allison had met only recently. Otherwise, there were a few acquaintances who invited her to the occasional party to make up the numbers, or who rang when they were bored and nobody else was free.

‘Another bottle?’ The waiter looked at Peter as he emptied the last of the champagne into her glass.

Allison wanted to take umbrage at the waiter’s deference to Peter. Wanted to raise a hand and say with cool disdain that yes, they’d have another bottle. But she’d drunk most of the champagne and was afraid the words would come out slurred, perhaps even garbled rather than firm and authoritative. So she said nothing, relieved when Peter shook his head.

When the bill came, presented to him on a silver salver, she made a half-hearted objection. ‘I should pay; I think I drank most of it.’

‘Don’t be silly, you’re here at my invitation.’