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‘Obviously. And what d'you like?’

‘Anything I can get my hands on.’ I flushed. Golly. That sounded a bit… you know… back to the square-jawed men. ‘I mean – any books.’

‘Of course. Classics?’

I took a deep breath and wondered, fleetingly, if I could bluff my way, literary speaking, for the next ten minutes or so. Happily some invisible divinity whispered sense in my ear and I decided against it.

‘Actually, I prefer more modern books. Contemporary fiction,’ I added quickly, remembering that tag. ‘I'm a big fan of E. J. McGuire.’

‘I'm not familiar with him.’

‘Her,’ I corrected, twisting in my seat to face him. ‘Oh God, she's terrific, you must try her. She does these brilliant sort of thriller things, really tense and creepy, and you have absolutely no idea how it's going to end up or who's done it.’

‘Sounds like Poe.’

Like… poo, did he say? I blinked. ‘Well. Obviously it's not to everyone's taste,’ I began, ‘but—’

‘Edgar Allan. You know, Victorian melodrama.’

‘Oh! Right. Yes, well, maybe. And actually it is quite melodramatic, now you mention it. But I quite like that. And there's always a terrific twist at the end, which you don't see coming. Oh, and she does romances too. Quite often they're set in a hospital so, you know, you get the doctor/nurse thingy going on, or sometimes it's somewhere hot and sultry so there's safari suits coming off all over the place. Well, not right off. And not too steamy. Not steamy at all, in fact.’

‘I must look out for E. J. McGuire. Left here?’

‘Yes, then down on the right.’ He stopped the car. I turned to him, flashed a winning smile. ‘And I must look out for Poo. Poe!’

He laughed; turned in his seat to face me, his arm crooked over the back of it, eyes shining right into mine. Wow. I took a deep breath. Lost my nerve.

‘Jane Austen's wonderful too, isn't she?’

He laughed again. ‘She certainly is.’

Well, at least I was making him laugh. Clearly on cracking form, Evie. Laugh him into bed, why don't you? No! Just like Jean. Not the laughing bit, the bed. And that wasn't what was called for. I'd just met him, for heaven's sake. He really was terribly attractive, though, all twinkly-eyed and smiley beside me. Another deep breath.

‘Would you… like to come in for coffee?’

It wasn't coffee time at all, more like supper time, more like nine o'clock time, but he wasn't offering anything else – quite thin, I noticed, so perhaps he didn't eat much, and hell, these intellectual types needed a bit of encouragement. He looked at me: an amused, evaluating look. I flushed.

‘I'd love to,’ he said quickly, before I could open my mouth to retract it. ‘Or maybe even a drink?’

‘A drink!’ I said joyfully as if he'd hit on the Holy Grail. Too joyful. Calm down, Evie. I got out of the car. ‘But I have to warn you,’ I prattled on nervously as I led him down the street, ‘I'm three storeys up, so you might need oxygen rather than vodka by the time you get there.’

‘I stand warned.’

‘And I don't know if my flatmate's in, either. I mean, she never normally is, but—’

‘Would it matter if she was?’

‘No. Of course not. I'm just saying she… you know… gads about.’ As if I didn't.

Happily further talk was made impossible, as for the next few minutes, we struggled up six flights of steps. Lesser Romeos had been known to stop for a breather on level four, or even level three, but this one had stamina, I noticed. I led on, wishing my skirt wasn't quite so short and hoping I didn't have a ladder in my tights.

I was rather dreading our entrance to the flat. Health and Safety hadn't thus far been alerted, but I fervently wished I'd had a quick clear-up before I'd left. But then again, I hadn't really envisaged bringing him back; had, at the very most envisaged a drink, or – and we're talking wildest dreams here – a pizza. Yet now, here he was – my heart pounded as I put the key in the lock – following me into what would doubtless be a fairly revolting… oh… my… God.

The kitchen, which one encountered fairly promptly, given that the hall was the size of a napkin, was spotless.

I spun round in