She gazed contently out of the window, letting the superior sound system envelope her with the pristine music. The car seemed to block out all other outside noise, and with its perfect climate control, she felt like she was cocooned in some kind of speeding spaceship.

Before she knew it, they were there, Dale slowing the car and pulling into the restaurant car park. She saw that one or two other cars were parked there. Set back slightly from the road, the restaurant stood alone, with no other buildings in close vicinity. It seemed to Bailey like a nice quiet location, even a little romantic, and certainly somewhere she’d never have discovered herself.

They got out of the car and she shivered a little in the chill of the evening. Over to her right, she saw the silhouette of trees – Epping Forest no doubt. It almost felt like they were in the countryside, even though it was just suburban Essex. Much as she enjoyed the noise and bustle of the city, she was happy that Dale had chosen somewhere cloistered and special for their evening out.

Dale put his arm out and she took it and together they walked up to the entrance of the restaurant – a single-storey modernist box-shaped building with the name ‘House of Bamboo’ written above the door in simple elegant font.

They walked up a set of shallow marble steps to the door. Dale stepped ahead of her and held it open. A sensor triggered a little electronic ‘ping’ as she entered and, moments later, a lanky, bald-headed maître d’ appeared with a fawning smile on his face.

The place was tastefully clad in dark lattice woodwork with gold dome-shaped lamps hanging low over the tables. The restrained decor encapsulated a meld of styles – Chinese scrolls hung from the walls, while Japanese-style paper screens separated the tables and Malaysian rattan blinds covered the windows. In keeping with the name, earthenware pots of bamboo stood here and there, the greenery pleasantly offsetting the stark simplicity of the modern Eastern design. To Bailey’s eyes, the restaurant represented the essence of understated cosmopolitan sophistication.

The place seemed quite empty though. In fact, they appeared to be the only diners there.

‘Seems very quiet,’ she said. ‘Though I suppose it is a Monday night.’

‘It’s only just opened,’ said Dale. ‘Probably still finding customers. Let’s hope the food’s good though, eh?’

She squeezed his arm. The maître d’ conducted them over to a choice booth – a round table set into the wall where they could sit as close to each other as they wished. Sitting down, they gravitated towards one another so their knees and elbows were brushing, the physical contact sending a delectable quiver of pleasure through Bailey. The maître d’ clicked his fingers and a waiter came over holding a bottle of sparkling water, two menus and a wine list.

After a few moments of perusing the menu and the wine list, Dale patted his pockets and gave a frown.