As I sat on the seat, I felt a faint tingle of excitement. In Australia I’d offered up storylines to hopeful Casanovas of dead fiancés and a need for space. Perhaps I was ready to try again. Arthur might be able to help.

When I returned, he suggested we escape the noise and chaos. I was only too glad to accept. I’d catch up with Jodi and Taylor in the morning.

Arthur and I ended up in a wine bar round the corner. It was empty apart from a lone couple drinking by the bar.

‘Wine bars are so yesterday,’ Arthur said, ‘but at least it’s quiet. White or red? I’m guessing you’re a white lady. Am I right?’

‘Yes, white please. A small glass.’

He ordered a bottle of fizzy water to help make it last. I told him I’d only be having the one. He said he liked restraint when it came to drink, especially in women. Later this struck me as odd. I wondered if his pleasure in my decorum might have something to do with control. However, I didn’t worry. Arthur turned out to be easy company, pleasantly attentive and quietly spoken. He was a good listener which helped me relax.

In the dimly lit environs of the wine bar we swapped stories. Arthur was well read and well travelled, if a tad boring. He made me laugh with anecdotes about his travels round the world. He had done out of the way places: Peru, Indonesia, Uganda and Alaska.

‘What do you do now?’ I asked.

‘I’m a pharmaceutical sales rep. I drive around the country and try to undercut and outmanoeuvre the large conglomerates by selling pills and potions from less well-known companies. There’s good money in it.’

Arthur’s wine glass remained half full. He told me he liked a clear head. It was hard not to compare the drink-fuelled sessions with Mitch. We had no such inhibitions. We drank far too much before tumbling into bed and making mad passionate love. Arthur was the opposite of spontaneous; but he was safe. This was important.

‘What about yourself? I haven’t seen you around before the other day at the gym.’ He watched me with a soft smile on his lips. His lips were thin, but defined; neither too wet nor too dry.

I told him about the gallery, about Roger’s suicide, my bequest and subsequent move to Australia. Arthur was adept at prising information out of me with short unemotional questions. He exuded genuine interest without ulterior motive. I didn’t mention James, Oliver or Mitch. They were my past and it felt good to be in the future.