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Greg's expression softened at once.

`No we aren't.'

`I'm sorry!'

`Don't be.' He didn't want to argue either. `I'm disappointed, that's all. I wanted our first day in the flat to be special.' Taking Miranda's face between his hands, he slowly kissed her. `You don't know how much I've been looking forward to this.'

`I'm not hungry,' Miranda murmured against his warm mouth. `I don't want to go out to dinner.'

Greg, who was starving, said, `We can order something later.'

`Do you hate me?'

`No.' His lips brushed her neck. `I love you.'

It was true. He hadn't planned to meet someone so soon after Chloe, but it had happened. He had found Miranda and he didn't want to lose her.

He felt her shudder in his arms.

`You do?'

`I do.'

Miranda closed her eyes. This had definitely been worth waiting for. And to think that she had tried to wriggle out of Elizabeth Turnbull's hideous fund-raising party. She had only gone in the end because Florence had insisted and she'd thought it might turn up a marriage-minded man, with I-love-Mothercare signs in his eyes, for Bev.

`We don't have to wait until later, do we?' Her embarrassingly out-of-practice fingers fumbled with the top button of his jeans. `I think I'd like to see the bedroom now.'

`We've waited this long,' Greg teased. `Are you sure you wouldn't rather leave it until next weekend?'

Miranda unfastened a couple more buttons. They were in the hallway now, and she was easing him in the direction of the closed door that hadn't yet been opened.

`Oh, I'm sure.'

Her hand landed on the door handle. The door opened and she began to reel him inside.

Oops.

A lot of clattering ensued.

`Junk cupboard,' Greg murmured, pulling her out again. `Wrong door.'

`I bet Mata Hari never had problems like this.'

`I don't suppose Mata Hari wore a 34A bra.'

`She didn't have Adrian and his friends to deal with.' Miranda unfastened the final button on his jeans. She leaned on the handle of the last door, nudging it open with her hip. `They aren't in here, are they?'

`Better not be,' said Greg.

Reeling home at eight o'clock the next morning, lightheaded from lack of sleep, Miranda only hoped she didn't look as bow-legged as she felt.

Oh, what a blissful night.

`No need to ask if you enjoyed yourself,' said Florence with her customary lack of discretion. Her eyes bright with laughter, she handed Miranda a mug of strong coffee. `Go anywhere nice?'

Miranda tried hard to look demure.

`Just a quiet evening in.'

`Not too quiet, I hope. That's the trouble with these modern flats, the walls are so thin you can't unscrew a bottle of aspirin without the neighbours asking if your headache's better.'

Demure clearly wasn't working. Miranda slurped her coffee and grinned.

`I didn't have a headache last night.'

`You had a couple of phone calls.' Expertly reversing her chair, Florence reached for the message pad. `Your friend Bev rang, wondering what you were up to today. Said she might pop over later and give you a hand.'

Miranda didn't get her hopes up; Bev's hands were too perfectly manicured to be of any practical use. Sunday was traditionally her day to be at a bit of a loose end, that was all. Bev's idea of being helpful would be lounging aboutgossiping and every so often pointing up at a hard-to-reach corner and saying knowledgeably, `Missed a bit.' `Okay. Who else rang?'

`Danny Delancey.' Florence held the pad at arm's length in an attempt to bring the scribbled message into some kind of focus. `He has to fly to New York tomorrow, so he wondered if you could do the interview this afternoon.'

`Dangling from a step-ladder, with a paint brush clenched between my teeth? Oh yes, lovely.' About to roll her eyes, Miranda shot her a suspicious look. `I hope you said no.'

`I did not, I said it would be fine.' Florence was unrepentant. `Today's the only time they can manage it, and you've put them off twice already. Anyway, I told them to come over at five, so you should be finished by then.'

`Five? But I've arranged