SheShe returned the handshake. “Clarissa. Clarissa Clements.”
“Nice to meet you, Clarissa.”
She looked down at his proffered hand, which he let drop. This time they both hesitated, as something hung in the air between then; an unspoken thought waiting for a voice.
“What?” he asked. “What did I do?”
She laughed breezily. “Nothing. It’s just – there aren’t many men who shake hands these days. Your aunt must have brought you up well.”
He chuckled. “My aunt was a force to be reckoned with.”
“Were she and er, ‘Aitch’ (she imitated his affectionate shorthand in a slightly mocking tone, teasing him, but not cruelly) the kind of women who chained themselves to old relics to stop them being knocked down, then?”
“I don’t know,” he answered wistfully, “but I think she’d have given it a try. If
