All in all, the day had improved, almost as much as his flat. McNab decided that he might celebrate a little with two fingers of whisky before the food and Ellie’s arrival. Retrieving the bottle, he studied its slowly diminishing contents.

‘Everything in moderation’ had been his mother’s watchword. If only he’d adopted it as his own earlier.

‘I’m trying, Mum,’ he muttered to the ceiling before measuring out his allotted amount and putting the bottle back in the cupboard.

Taking his time, he savoured the scent of the malt, which he’d bought in place of the usual easily quaffable blended version. Treat it like the French treat wine, with respect, he reminded himself. And the less you drink over time, the more powerful the result when you do.

That much he had found to be true.

McNab added a little water, then sniffed again. Anticipation was the name of the game, as important in drinking whisky as in having sex.

He married the idea of whisky and sex in his head, then tasted the malt, allowing a ripple of delight to combine with sexual desire. Hey, maybe the French were right after all.

The roar of the approaching Harley was timed to perfection. The question was what would come first. The food or the sex?

He watched as Ellie parked her bike below. She wouldn’t have brought it if she didn’t intend staying over, or that’s what McNab told himself. He waited for the buzzer, forgetting momentarily that Ellie hadn’t given back her key.

Hearing her footsteps on the stairs, he realized that she must have let herself in at the main door, but there was no sound of her key in the inner lock. After a slight wait, he heard her knock on the door and immediately went to open it.

She had her helmet in her hands and her backpack over her arm. When he smiled at her, she wrinkled her nose and said, ‘What smells so nice?’

‘Something Darren from Clean It! put in with the washing, I think,’ McNab ventured.

‘Darren?’ Ellie said with a suggestive smile.

‘No sexism here. Men can be cleaners too.’ McNab pulled her inside and shut the door.

‘Lemon Lenor,’ she offered. ‘And plenty of it.’

McNab took her helmet and bag and dropped them on the hall chair, then did what he’d planned as he’d listened to her climbing the stairs.

She eventually emerged with a gasp. ‘Can I at least see the sitting room first?’

McNab let her go, albeit reluctantly, having already conjured up an image of them moving swiftly into the bedroom with just enough time before the curry would arrive.

But, it seemed, Ellie was more captivated by cleanliness than by him.

‘My God. The place is unrecognizable, by sight or smell,’ she said as she surveyed the main room. ‘And you’ve even set the table.’