Quinn was obliging and charming with all her customers and Minnie felt herself softening towards him – he was impossible not to like. Yet beneath the surface there remained some ingrained mistrust, some Pavlovian conditioning that bristled at the name Quinn Hamilton and everything he stood for. When she saw him being kind and funny with her customers, her resolve to dislike him would melt. Then they’d get back to his Bentley and she’d remember – it’s easy to be charming when you’ve led a charmed life.

‘You have a way with the old folks,’ Minnie said, looking across the bonnet at him as they stood outside Mr Marchbanks’s house.

‘I definitely don’t have a way with cats,’ Quinn said, holding up his scratched forearm to show her. Minnie opened the passenger door laughing.

‘Poor diddums, did little puss-puss scratch you with his tiny claws?’

‘I didn’t see you volunteering.’

Quinn’s cheek puckered into a dimple.

‘The look on your face when he told you that you had the wrong cat,’ Minnie said, letting out a little snort.

‘That man didn’t know which cat was which,’ said Quinn, shaking his head. ‘I could have collared next door’s dog for all he knew.’

‘Just because he’s blind doesn’t mean he can’t tell his cats apart, Quinn. He says they all have very distinct smells,’ Minnie said primly.

‘His flat certainly has a very distinct smell.’

‘Don’t be mean, he’s had a hard life that man.’

Quinn paused, the jokey expression falling from his face. ‘I know. It’s amazing what you do for these people, Minnie.’

‘Oh yeah, pastry for pensioners – it’s Nobel Prize-winning stuff.’

Minnie opened the car door and climbed in. Quinn got in next to her, his face still serious as he stared ahead out of the windscreen.

‘You’re clearly a lifeline to these people. It’s so much more than just food delivery, it’s … ’ Quinn trailed off, turning back to the windscreen. ‘People need that connection in their day, someone dropping in just to see if they’re OK.’

Minnie watched a small muscle in his jaw start to pulse. He turned back to Minnie and forced a smile. ‘Not that I need to tell you, it’s your brilliant business.’

‘Not that brilliant,’ Minnie sighed. ‘Not financially anyway.’

‘Well you need to start charging for cat collaring,’ said Quinn, holding up his forearm again and pointing to the scratch marks.

‘Aw, you need me to kiss it better?’

It was the kind of sarcasm she might have used with Ian or her brother, but Quinn responded with this piercing look. It felt as though someone had pressed pause between them and then Minnie realised she was holding her breath. He looked away and someone pressed play.

‘Maybe we’ll save the kissing for next time.’