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‘Yeah, there.’

‘Good point. OK, maybe not lunch then. Shall we pick up the pace now so we’ll feel like we’ve earned the breakfast at least?’

As I jog along beside Nathan, I’m conscious that I should be thinking about the day ahead. It’s my last opportunity to gather any final pieces of information before I start to feed back to them next week, and I don’t know how long the ceasefire between me and Jeremiah will hold, so I need to make the most of it. However, I can’t help thinking about tomorrow. The truth is that I’m looking forward to it much more than I should be.

12

As it’s the weekend, Nathan and I decided we could give ourselves a much-needed lie-in, rather than pounding the pavements or the treadmills in the gym, but I’m still up early on Saturday morning. I feel energised, partly because I’m looking forward to escaping the city and seeing a bit more of the surrounding area, but also because I really do think Jeremiah is softening towards me a little bit. I’m still giving him as good as I get, but he seems to thrive on it. I wonder what his wife is like – maybe she’s just as forthright and direct as him.

The forecast is for bright sunshine with temperatures in the high twenties so, after slathering myself in factor fifty, I’ve opted for a plain pink T-shirt over denim shorts, with practical trainers on my feet. I did umm and aah about a summer dress, but it just felt a bit over the top when I tried it on. Although I do appreciate that Nathan is good-looking, with a very pleasant physique, I’ve reminded myself that we are just two people from totally different worlds making the most of being stuck in the same place at the same time, nothing more. Hopefully, it looks like I’ve just thrown on some clothes and quickly tugged a brush through my hair, even if I have actually taken a fair amount of time over my appearance.

Unfortunately for me, it would appear that Nathan hasn’t got the memo. He’s just appeared in the lobby of our apartment block and, not to put too fine a point on it, he looks edible. His hair is still damp from the shower which, for some bizarre reason, makes me want to run my hands through it. He’s wearing a plain white T-shirt underneath his lightweight baseball jacket, with black jeans and a pair of black Converse All Stars on his feet. He looks gorgeous and I’m slightly ashamed to admit that I’m totally here for it. I’m not quite sure why I’m reacting so strongly towards him this morning; after all, I’ve seen him wearing nothing but skimpy running shorts and a T-shirt, and this outfit covers much more of him up than that, but then I realise that maybe it’s because he’s covered up that my imagination is starting to fill in the blanks and having a very happy time doing so.

‘Are you ready then?’ he asks, evidently completely unaware of the turmoil in my head. ‘I’m starving. Probably not a good idea to look at their menu online when you haven’t eaten anything and you know it’s at least forty minutes from here. Thinking of which, shall I drive, or would you prefer to?’

‘Oh, you can drive,’ I tell him, trying to sound casual and breezy rather than slightly flustered. ‘I’m happy to be a passenger and watch the world go by.’ And, of course, it will also give me the opportunity to enjoy the view inside the car while he’s busy concentrating on the road.

For goodness’ sake, Athena, what is the matter with you this morning? I scold myself mentally. Pull yourself together and stop acting like a hormone-imbalanced teenager.

Nathan’s hire car is pretty much a carbon copy of mine, so I’m curious to note that the traffic-light vendors take a very different approach to him. They’re almost deferential. He’s also much more confident with them, usually waving them away without even making eye contact.

‘Don’t you feel guilty?’ I ask him as he effortlessly dismisses a man brandishing a dirty rag that he assures us will make our windscreen completely clean.

‘Oh, yes,’ he tells me with a smile. ‘Underneath, there’s timid Nathan going, “I’m British, I don’t do this kind of thing, please leave me alone.”’

‘I just hate the idea of offending them.’

‘I know. You’re worried they’re going to suddenly break into some tragic sob story, making you feel like an awful person in the process.’

‘If they wanted me to empty my purse, that would be a surefire way to succeed,’ I agree.

‘OK, so look at windscreen boy. No, don’t turn, use the mirrors.’ He indicates the handle that will allow me to adjust the door mirror on my side. ‘Is he giving us the evil eye?’

‘I can’t actually…’ I begin as I move the mirror around, trying to locate our man.

‘Several rows back,’ Nathan offers.

‘Got him.’

‘Is he staring at us, giving us the stink-eye?’

‘Nope. Looks like he has an actual victim. Good luck seeing out after he’s finished with you,’ I murmur.

‘Exactly. He’s a chancer. He’s already forgotten we exist and moved on. He’ll do that until he’s either warned off by the police – extremely unlikely – or until he’s amassed enough cash to spend the rest of the day doing as he pleases. There are worse ways of earning a living, particularly when the weather is good, like today.’

The light changes to green and we surge forward with the rest of the traffic, which is reasonably light at this time on a Saturday morning. As we leave the city behind, I crack open the window to let in some fresh air.

‘Have a fiddle with the radio if you like,’ Nathan suggests. ‘See if you can find some happy “we’re off to do wine tasting” music.’

I’m not sure whether it’s elation at the feeling of the fresh, warm air blowing in my face after a dismal week locked in the office, my need for a distraction because the word ‘fiddle’ has taken my mind to places it should frankly be ashamed of, or just general happiness about the prospect of the day ahead, but the mischievous side of my personality decides to choose this moment to cut in. I look at him and clamp my hand over my mouth, feigning shock.

‘What?’ he asks.

‘Can I just check that you are actually a man?’ I ask.

‘Last time I looked. Why?’

‘And you’re feeling OK? No dizziness, light-headedness?’