‘No.’ Portia’s smile was forced. ‘It’s Stuart’s house. He likes minimalism.’ She drained her glass and reached for the bottle. ‘Some more?’

Allison, who had barely touched hers, shook her head.

Portia filled her own glass and took a mouthful. ‘When I met Stuart, I was young, poor, aimless. He was older, wiser, and introduced me to a different world.’ She waved her hand around the room again. ‘I got all this and more. Accepting we had different taste seemed a small price to pay.’

Allison thought she understood. Portia had said ‘older’ and ‘wiser’; she’d left out ‘richer’. When Stuart came through the door moments later, she was convinced she was right. He was perhaps twenty years older than Portia, maybe in his eighties.

Portia leapt to her feet and laid a hand on Allison’s shoulder. ‘Stuart, this is Allison.’

For a second, Allison felt on display. Stuart’s eyes, cold and hard in an unattractively piggy face, slid over her with unpleasant intensity. He crossed to her with his hand extended. ‘Welcome to our home.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ she said, feeling her hand engulfed in his unusually large one. He held it a fraction too long for her liking as he continued to weigh her up. She must have passed whatever internal criteria he used to judge people because suddenly his expression became welcoming.

Portia fluttered around with a smile on her face. ‘Bring Allison through to the dining room, Stuart. I’ll bring the food in a mo.’

‘Certainly, my dear.’ He smiled and waved Allison to a doorway on the far side of the room.

It opened into another large cold room. A huge table was surrounded by eight chairs. One painting hung on the far wall. There was no other furniture. None of the knick-knacks that turned a house into a home.

Stuart held a chair out for her, only taking his hands away after she’d sat. Allison thought she’d felt his fingers brush her neck and jerked, startled. But when she looked at him, his expression was one of innocence. Perhaps she’d imagined the touch. It was this house: it was strangely creepy.

When Stuart took the seat opposite, she searched for something to say. ‘You have a lovely home.’ It was a whopper of a lie but it worked and Stuart smiled and sat back.

‘Minimalism suits me.’ He waved a hand around the room. ‘Clean lines, cool colours, no clutter.’

Portia came bustling through with plates and dishes a moment later and the room was filled with the aroma of good food. Wine flowed a little too freely for Allison’s liking. She left hers untouched when it was refilled and sipped from her water glass instead.