‘You can’t work with that hand for a few hours anyway,’ Alex says, turning her wrist gently to change the flow of water over the finger. ‘Please say yes. It’s a lovely drive, the weather is gorgeous and I know you and Anne will get on. She’s looking forward to meeting you.’ He watches her face and, seeing the clouds scudding across it, pushes the point home. ‘And you can ask her more about that Midland thing, now you’ve got a connection to it.’

‘Connection?’ Honor starts and pulls back. What has he found out? For a moment she forgets to breathe.

‘Madeleine Ince, remember?’ he says, looking puzzled.

‘Oh, of course,’ she says, letting the air fill her lungs once more.

‘Please say yes. I’ve just joined one of those car-share schemes, so we can go in style.’

‘Or in Gerry.’ He cocks his head which makes him look rather charming. ‘My van.’

‘Well that would be lovely.’

‘I’m a terrible driver.’

‘Ah, well, perhaps lovely’s the wrong word. An adventure. Who doesn’t love one of those?’

An hour later they are on their way out of the city. The rush-hour traffic has subsided and now the usual clot of cars and buses lurches fitfully towards the motorway. At the second roundabout Gerry stalls and they miss the lights. Drivers behind toot their horns irritably.

‘I did warn you.’

‘Nonsense,’ Alex says, doing his best to sound unconcerned as the van sets off once more and briefly mounts the kerb. ‘You’re a marvel.’

She turns to smile. Moments later, as the van veers towards the kerb again, she returns her attentions to the road.

‘Oh yes, I do see,’ says Alex. ‘A very creative driver.’

Once out of the city, the talk turns to boats and the loveliness of spring and at last, as they turn onto a series of ever narrower roads on the outskirts of Bath, they circle around to Anne.

‘I’m so glad you two will get to meet.’ Something about the way he says this, with a tinge of nostalgia, prompts Honor to say, ‘So why…’

‘…did we split? Water under the bridge. Oh, you need to turn left here.’

They swerve onto a country lane bounded on both sides by blossoming hawthorn. Honor rights the van and glances in the rear-view mirror. If only my hair was less unruly. I look like a labradoodle during a dog groomers’ strike.

‘Yesterday, when we were talking about the thing with Reynolds and those boys,’ he says. Her eyes flick to him. ‘You seemed to suggest that something similar happened when you were a student. You said you’d tell me sometime.’

‘I did.’

They drive on in an awkward silence for a while. She thinks, can I really face this?

‘It’s right at the lights, by the way,’ he says. Honor can feel his eyes on her.