She set off with sudden confidence and pushed open the door. The place was gleaming! Marble floors, white pillars and gold-edged round tables on which sat vast, stunning displays of flowers in gold urns. Not a wilting orchid in sight. Bess had never actually craved wealth, not truly, but she could certainly see the attraction of having money if it bought you access to places like this. The girl on reception lifted her hand in a wave and smiled enthusiastically. Bess gave a curt but polite nod and walked to the lift. She was in no mood to engage with anyone and strode forward before calling the lift, as if she had been here a million times before, as if this were any other day and there was nothing untoward going on, as if her heart were not clattering inside her ribcage, while nerves made her feel as if it might jump out of her chest altogether and bounce over the tiled floor. As if she were used to this kind of life, this glamour! Standing now in the lift, facing the melee of the reception, she prayed no one else would get in, jabbing the button for the sixth floor with her finger as surreptitiously as she was able, while smiling into the top corner of the lift, as if this were not the case. The thought of making small talk about the weather while heading up to meet Mr Maxwell – ‘Please call me Andrew’ – was almost more than she could stand. The lift doors seemed to take an age to close and the moment they did, she breathed out, steadying herself against the wall as if she might fall. She felt quite light-headed. The lift shuddered to a halt on the sixth floor.

‘What are you doing, Bess?’ she asked out loud, whispering into the depths of the subtly lit corridor lined with identical white doors displaying shiny brass numbers. The striped russet and gold carpet beneath her feet was vertigo-inducing and the temperature a little too warm. She realised there were no windows and the air was stale. It smelled of dust and the residual scent of food, thick with particles breathed in and out while countless people like her made their way to the bedrooms. Well, maybe not people like her with dual hammers of guilt and excitement thumping away in her chest, but it was almost too late to consider that. Here she was.

620 . . . 622 . . . 624 . . .

This was it. Bess raised her hand to knock, but it took a split second for her to find the courage, and when she did, she immediately looked back along the corridor, wondering if she had time to run back to the lift before Mr Maxwell – Andrew – opened the door.

Suddenly, the door opened and there he was.

She stared at him and the look of absolute delight he gave her was encouraging, warming and made her feel very much like a woman to be desired. The exact opposite of invisible.