‘I know.’ Bella shook her head, angry with herself again. ‘I’ve hardly been that receptive recently … What sort of book, though?’ She started laughing as she finished her margarita. ‘Vampire porn for teenagers? A misery memoir? Oooh – the first in a dark, Scandinavian crime trilogy?’

Andy laughed too.

‘Have you ever actually read anything I’ve written? No, I was thinking a history of the Balkans, post-World War Two.’

‘OK, yes, that does sound a bit more you. You could probably do it without even having to do much research. You know so much about everything!’ Bella was gushing now, waving her tipsy arms about, thrilled at the idea of her beloved being a proper history writer. He might even get an OBE or something.

‘Well, almost everything.’ Andy laughed again. ‘But there will be a lot of research involved. I may have to spend some time at the British Library.’

‘Oh, nooooo! I thought you’d be working from home, with me? Can’t you just Google stuff?’

‘Googling stuff is the way that very bad, historically inaccurate books get written. Anyway, you have your Westbourne Studio …’

‘OK, fair enough. And you never know, we might really wind each other up if we were on top of each other all day in our tiny flat …’

Andy looked over the table at her and smiled.

‘Can we get the bill now, please?’

‘Yeah, course. On me, as I’m the main breadwinner now! But why the urgency? We haven’t finished the charcuterie …’

‘Oh, you silly, gorgeous thing. Sod the charcuterie! Do you realize what you just said? On top of each other all day … There is nothing I would like more than to be on top of you right now. I know we said we’d walk back, but I’m willing to blow the last of my meagre earnings on a cab.’

The Hôtel du Panthéon was a gorgeous little boutique hotel overlooking the Panthéon itself, and Andy and Bella’s bedroom, on the top floor, was Provençal-inspired, with a wrought-iron balcony, four-poster bed, toile de Jouy curtains and an eighteenth-century armoire with panels upholstered in a checked fabric (underneath wire mesh) that nearly matched the faded blue-and-white eiderdown on the sumptuously inviting bed.

‘Oh, it’s so pretty!’ said Bella, kissing Andy as they stumbled into the room.

‘Not as pretty as you. Vous êtes très jolie, mademoiselle … Très, très jolie …’

His words were slightly muffled as he was kissing her neck, which he knew she loved.

‘Merci, monsieur, but surely we’re on ‘tu’ terms by now?’

Bella was actually trembling.

‘I’m rather enjoying the formality,’ said Andy as he ran his hands up her legs, underneath her skirt and stroked her through her wet knickers. ‘May I, mademoiselle?’

‘En Français, s’il vous plaît … Oh, fuck it, yes you may.’

Andy stopped for a second, looking directly into her eyes.

‘En Français?’

‘Bien sûr … Mais oui, oui, monsieur … N’arrêtez pas …’ Bella’s words were hampered by her breathlessness.