The morning was cold, dark coats and wool scarves the order of the day. And even though she kicked against it , he insisted on getting her yoghurt , freshly squeezed orange juice, and some bread for the journey ahead. Duty, she told herself. He’d taken his pleasure and it was all about duty now.
‘Thank you,’ she said. They both walked out into the street, as she tied her scarf around her throat, the calls or the birds in sea and the clang of tram bells heavy in the thick cold air.
He shrugged. ‘It was only a light breakfast.’
And she smiled. ‘No, I mean, thank you, for last night. For everything.’
‘It was my pleasure and memorable.
She shook her head. ‘No, I rather think it was mine.’ He smiled at that and gave her his arm, one last gesture, one last touch, and she didn’t reject i
