‘I can’t tell you how very, very glad I am to see you,’ he said softly, his smile wide as he opened the door.

Her feet moved slowly, aware this was no mere step over the little brass strip between the hallway and the bedroom but in fact a canyon across which she was about to leap. On this side was safety, monotony and the life she knew she should like and on the other was something new and thrilling, the very idea of which sent a jolt of rousing electricity through her bones.

Bess stepped inside.

Her initial feeling was one of disappointment and her stomach sank as reality burst her bubble. It turned out that the Glade Hotel was one of those establishments where the communal areas were a darn sight fancier than the rooms, and where its reputation and assumed elegance was apparently far more important than the comfort of the actual paying guests.

Andrew displayed none of the nerves she felt. He was eager, smiling and relaxed. She, on the other hand, stood by the door, scanning the room, looking for small details that might occupy her mind, to distract her, almost, from the reality of the situation in which she found herself, albeit a reality which she alone had created. She felt like an observer, thinking how she would tell Mario about the general shoddiness of the interior, before remembering she would not be telling Mario, she would not be telling anyone.

Another secret . . .

A plastic tray sat on top of a faux wooden chest of drawers, and on it two old-fashioned floral cups with teaspoons resting on the saucers. Next to these were two small plastic-wrapped packets of oaty biscuits. Bess turned to look at the door and stared at the handle, trying to think of her exit phrase, wanting to leave, when Andrew spoke.