Tim had obviously made an effort to look suave and sophisticated, but Nathan always has that terribly sexy slight hint of rugged son-of-the-soil (or maybe son-of-the-rugby-field? I do hope not!), which is refreshing: well, it was as long as he didn’t suddenly reveal an all-consuming passion for some sport.

Then Nathan and I left and went to an Affiliated Authors’ meeting, which was unexciting, except for the unique feeling of turning up at a writers’ event with a personable man. Ramona was there so I introduced her, and afterwards Nathan invited me back to his flat for coffee and a chat about things. As we were going Ramona winked at me.

When we got there Nathan said I was looking as beautiful and poised as ever, but he couldn’t help noticing I was not quite my usual self and was something the matter?

And then I am afraid I got a bit tearful, though fortunately at the last minute remembered that I had already jokingly thrown Linny to the wolves; so I said I had found it difficult to forgive Linny and Sergei for what they had done together, and so I hadn’t seen either of them for ages (a week does seem ages when you usually speak to people on the phone at least once a day, if not more, let alone see them), and it was all at an end between us.

All of us.

Nathan looked taken aback by this declaration, but said he understood and admired the way I was being so brave and dignified over something that must have been an awful shock. I found him very, very comforting in a cuddly blanket kind of way, especially when he said he hated to see me cry and sat next to me on the sofa with his arm around me. And our lips were barely an inch away and closing rapidly when the door opened and we immediately sprang apart, probably looking guilty as hell, though I don’t know why.

The girl from the photograph stood there, a skinny honey-blonde with startled marmoset eyes, which were giving me daggers, and her pouty little mouth snapped, ‘Sorry, Nathan – I didn’t know you were occupied,’ which made him sound a bit like a war zone – and come to think of it, perhaps he was, for clearly there’d be a fight if I tried to annex him. Then she turned on her four-inch stiletto heels and went out again, slamming the door. The signed photo of Sergei fell off the wall like a dire omen.

‘That was Rachel,’ Nathan said uncomfortably. ‘She’s an old friend doing some secretarial work for me until she finds a new job.’