The first thing I saw was my DC stuffing his face, which made me angry since I was starving.

“Carl!” I barked. He jumped, then swallowed half of the food in his mouth, almost choking.

“Guv?” I nodded at the bun in his hand. “Canteen’s out of commission, guv.” And I thought, I bloody well know that, now. “Got you a coffee and a bacon ro, er, barm from down the road. ’S’on your desk.” He nodded towards my little office, his mouth clearly desperate to eat more.

“Good lad.” I told him, as I walked away. It had taken ages to stop Carl using the local term, roll, for a bacon barm. Both Ron and I had worked on him. I entered my little office, and there, oh, joy, was the promised sustenance. I unwrapped the sandwich and took a hefty bite, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand which reminded me of the stickiness on my hands. I shrugged to myself, the greasy goodness was nestled in a serviette and greaseproof paper anyway. I took a swig of the coffee, and breathed a sigh of satisfaction.

“Ron!” I shouted out through the open door, rearranging the sandwich to prevent the ketchup from leaking onto my shirt. His answering call was muffled by his own mouthful of food.

“Remember that teenager that came in a month or so back? Nice old-fashioned name. Daisy? Maisy?”

“Milly. Milly Walton.” He said and I snapped my fingers.

“Who was the landlord? Get the file for me.” I then sank my teeth in for more salty, ketchupy, buttery nutrition. Yes, I like tomato sauce on my bacon barm; deal with it.

I heard him typing into the search engine. This girl had come in with a complaint that we hadn’t been able to act on. She claimed her new landlord wanted her to become a prostitute. We’d sent someone around, and he’d said it was a tasteless joke that he’d made about payment in kind, and he promised to apologise. We explained to her that we had no evidence to bring a case, and she said she’d found somewhere else to live anyway, but the whole thing didn’t sit right with me. I wanted the crook brought to justice.

“Here you go,” Ron said, throwing a print-out on my desk. “Molly Walton. Landlord was Oliver James.”

“Yes! Bloody well got him.” I growled to myself. I finished the food and dropped the wrapping into the waste bin. After tearing open the complementary wet-wipe and cleaning my face and hands, and while finishing the coffee, I explained to Ron why I was asking. Ron called out instructions to Carl, and we planned the next steps. “Broadhurst’s in his office if you need a warrant.” I added. Rolling down my shirt sleeves and checking I had my phone and car keys in my pockets, I gave some more instructions to my sergeant “Oh, yes, Ron. Date-rape drugs; find out who’s supplying around here.” and went back to the canteen, hoping that, since I had been longer than I’d planned, the girl would still be there. It made me feel anxious, not an emotion I was used to, and certainly not when my belly was full.

I opened the door. She was still where I’d left her, my handkerchief screwed up in her curled fingers. Two women were talking to her, apparently offering comfort. I let out a piercing whistle which had all eyes on the place turn to me. “Lainey.” I said, when we made eye contact, and I held the door open until she reached it. Once she was in the corridor, I held out my left hand behind me to show her to follow me, but to my surprise, she slipped her small hand into mine. I turned towards her, my ready sneer on my face, preparing to shake her hand out of mine, but stopped when I saw her expression. Her deep brown eyes, trusting, sweet, showing confidence in me, happy to be with me, and, instead, I squeezed her fingers lightly, and pulled her along to my car. And that’s when I knew I was a goner.

I unlocked my blue Mazda 3, and held the passenger door for her. I made sure she knew how to fasten the seat belt, then on my way around, stopped and rooted about in my bag in the boot. Finding what I wanted, I checked it worked and tucked it in my pocket. Once we were both in the car, she gave me her address, I didn’t need the sat-nav.

“Your accent.” I said, as I drove, wanting to know more about her. “You’re not from around here.”

“No.” She agreed. “Neither are you, I think.” It was true, but it was her story I wanted, so I waited, and she began to talk again. “I came here to go to uni, but I didn’t enjoy the course. I’d got the job at Benyon’s before I started, so when I told Mr Benyon that I was going to quit my degree, - I thought he ought to know since he’d employed a student - he offered me a full-time job. A few weeks ago, he suggested I looked into the City&Guilds courses, so I could qualify in a different way. That’s why I was so surprised when,” her breath hitched again, “when he fired me.” I made sympathetic noises, but was a bit suspicious about it myself. It hadn’t been the boss who’d dismissed her, yet he’d been solicitous enough beforehand. “And I was trying to pay off my student loan and save enough for a mortgage, because the flat’s not much, and I wanted to put down roots.” A quick glance showed her dismay and I wished I could say something to make her feel better. She’d been exploited, but like a lot of young girls, had taken the responsibility on herself, rather than blaming the person she had trusted.

“Nothing to go back home for?” I asked instead.

“No. Not really. My family is okay, but they don’t miss me. Glad when I moved out, I think.”

I decided that was a conversation for another time, not least because we’d reached our destination, but also to avoid causing her more distress on a day which had stretched her limits by the look on her face.

Arriving at the tenement-style building where she lived, I looked at the old structure and thought how my brother would love the outside, if not what had been done to the butchered inside. We walked up to where her flat was, the halls and staircase painted in bog-standard magnolia. I understood the cheap paint job; it was easy to ‘touch-up’ and it didn’t look grubby as soon as white did. She admitted me into an open space, decorated sparingly, but with walls in different shades of blue. It was an amateur job, brushstrokes visible and the colour uneven.

“You do the decorating?”

“Yes.” She acknowledged sheepishly. “I’ve never painted walls before. It looked okay until it dried.”

“Better than magnolia.” I said, and she laughed a little bit.

“I got the paint cheap at the supermarket and Mr James said it would be all right if I painted it.” Another example of her being an obey-the-rules person. “I don’t know how he feels about the way it turned out, but I didn’t have enough paint to give it another coat.”

There was some cheap-looking furniture with a makeshift bookshelf made from what looked like old drawers, below the window, filled with books. It had been a large square room, but was now divided up unequally and uninspiringly to include a small bathroom, kitchenette and living and sleeping area. Her bed, wider than a single, but not a big double, neatly made with a pink flowery duvet cover, was against the inside wall, which she’d painted a paler shade than the rest of the room.

I looked around first, trying to spot anything obvious and failing.

“Have you moved the furniture around since you moved in? You know, moved into a different position in the space?” I asked.

“Only the coffee table and couch.”

The small table was pushed against the wall, an equally small television perched on it; the couch was facing it, and I assumed their relative positions had been swapped. Again, I tried to weigh up what I was looking for.

Dipping into my pocket, I pulled out the small hand-held device and turned it on. I twiddled knobs and checked the read-out, and again decided I needed an upgrade. It was for detecting cameras and microphones, but TVs, audio systems and mobiles interfered with it. In this building, with flats on each side, above and below, there were a lot of devices which were impeding my search. Thinking, I tried to narrow the hunt.

“Is the bed exactly where it was when you moved in?” I wondered if the aspect had perhaps been changed since there was nothing obvious.

“Yes. It seems the best place.” She answered, but was clearly confused at my questions.

“Right then. You lie down on the bed.” She froze, her face a picture of shock. I pushed on, silently wondering about a girl who called herself a prostitute and yet was so resistant to such a simple idea, but deciding that acting as if it was normal was best. “Lie on your back first and look at the ceiling, then on your side facing outwards. Look carefully all around. See if you can see anything that looks out of place.”

She frowned at the instructions, but they seemed to relax her with regard to my intentions and she did as I asked, and as I watched, she examined the walls, the ceiling, and the visible surfaces, before shrugging disconsolately at not seeing anything.

“Move over.” I said and prepared to climb on the bed behind her. “Let me take a look.”

She glared at me, looking, for all the world, like an annoyed mouse.

“Your shoes.” It was a reprimand given in a soft, pale pink voice.

I narrowed my eyes at her, “Not your bloody bed.” I grumbled.

“No. But it’s my bedding, and it’s where I sleep.” Her voice was a little bolder in response, but not much.

And she had a point, even if I didn’t like it, so I toed off my shoes and stepped over her, dropping down and lying down beside her. I felt her stiffen beside me, so to break the tension, I nudged her with my hip.

“Budge up a bit, love,” I said, “I’m a big man, I need more room.” It worked, she snorted a laugh and slid towards the edge of the bed, almost falling off. I grabbed her hip to save her just as the door opened.

The man who entered was probably about mid-forties, with plenty of unruly hair and a smile that slimy might have been coined for. He was wearing brown slacks, belted below his belly, and a blue shirt. Lainey breathed out, Mr James, but I already knew who he was. His voice was expectedly brash, full of false bonhomie.

“Sorry to disturb you. The landlord,” he gestured to himself, “and just checking on my tenant. You being looked after, sir?” There was something oleaginous about him, and I pulled Lainey closer to me, and she came gratefully it seemed. I was going to challenge him for entering without knocking, but just then my phone rang, so I didn’t need to.

“Sorry,” I said. “I need to get this.” I pulled it out with my left hand, keeping my right anchoring Lainey beside me. I didn’t want James taking advantage of my distraction. It was Ron.

Only I could hear the other side of the following conversation.

“Jackpot, guv.”

“You’ve been successful?”

“Yeah. There’s audio, too. Looking at you now. You look cosy.” I laughed, but Ron knew I wasn’t amused. He didn’t care though, cheeky sod. “If you look around, I’ll let you know when you’re looking at it.” I began to move my head lazily, as if stretching my neck.

“What else do we need?”

“Nothing. It’s all there. He keeps everything. The tosser even has a file for you already. Called Question mark Blue, and dated today. You were right about him and his ‘mates’. Well-known businessmen from the town. Based on the info you gave me, I’m thinking Peter White is Peter Heston, and Mark Black is probably Mark Kerr.”

“Sounds good.” It seems we had uncovered quite a conspiracy. Both Heston and Kerr were council members. While thinking, I tracked over the light fitting.

“Bulls-eye.” He said. I squinted and saw the camera, sighing that I hadn’t spotted it sooner. It was hidden in a conversion adaptor for the bulb.

“Great. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Gordon Romsey, seems to be his partner, works at Benyon’s.” I smiled at the news. “Messages between the two of them show what they’ve been up to.”

“Excellent news.” I said, and smiled at James, who was watching me carefully, as if it were he and I who were co-conspirators.

“Do you want us to pick him up? I can send a car now.”

“Do that. But wait for me, okay?”

“No worries. Oh, breaking news. Frank Craddock’s name’s here, too.”

“Frank.” I pulled myself up short, changing what I was saying. I didn’t want James knowing the game was up until Ron was here to arrest him. Craddock was a known dealer, but we had struggled to pin anything on him. Hopefully, his luck had run out. “...ly, that’s great news.” I said, and took a surreptitious look to see if the game was up. James was trying to pretend he wasn’t listening to me. I guess he was hoping I was another businessman he could exploit.

“Right. Carl and I are pulling up outside now.”

“That’s great! Can’t wait to see you.”

I clicked call end and tucked my phone away.

“Sorry about that.” I said. “Business never sleeps.”

I got the oily smile again.

“No problem. Now, if you don’t mind, I just need to speak to my tenant alone for a moment.”

That wasn’t going to happen anyway, but what bothered me the most was how Lainey was pushing further into me with anxiety. I rubbed her arm.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s all over now.” I soothed her. “You don’t need to be afraid anymore.”

I saw James look confused, and then the door opened again and Ron and Carl came in. Ron winked when he saw us still on the bed and Carl’s eyes widened. He obviously hadn’t been watching the footage.

“It’s okay now,” I quietly told her, “let me get up.”

She sat up and swung her legs around to a seating position, watching me curiously and with anxiety. I thrutched down the bed a bit until I could do the same thing, then I helped her stand up, squeezing her hand to reassure her. Meanwhile, Ron was arresting Oliver James; I heard him identify himself and Carl, then inform him why he was arresting him - aiding, abetting or compelling prostitution - amongst other offences, and explaining the next steps. I took Lainey by the arm and led her into the corridor. I was about to speak, when:

“Guv?” Ron was in the doorway. “A word?”

I held Lainey by both of her upper arms and looked down at her. “You okay?” I asked. She smiled, albeit wanly. “Wait here.” I said then stepped away from her to see what Ron wanted.

“What?”

“The folders James had.” I waited. “Labelled by building and room.” I nodded. “Your folder was in the one for this flat.” I sighed, waiting for Ron to get to the point. “It had ten files, the girl in bed, alone, but ...” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “She sleeps in the nude.” I was starting to get angry, grinding my teeth, jutting out my jaw. He held up his hands in front of him. “I didn’t look at ’em properly; fast-forwarded to check there were no men. There wasn’t. Anyway, then I, er, accidentally deleted them all.”

“What?” I hissed, checking that Lainey wasn’t aware of what we were talking about. Her head was down, and she was tying and untying the lace on her top again. “They were evidence, Ron.” I tried to control the edge in my voice.

“I know, guv. So I tried to get them back and, well, made another mistake and permanently deleted them.”

“Permanently?”

“I think so. Maybe a techie could get them back if they were told to look for them.” He looked anything but sorry. “There’s a lot of folders and files though. Another half dozen for this building alone, and he has a number of properties. So, we shouldn’t need them.”

I liked Ron. Like me, he was a northern refugee, meant we were often on the same page. I clapped him on the shoulder.

“Mistakes happen. You should take more bloody care, Ron.” And yes, I was grateful to him. At some point the fact that James’d had a camera pointed at her bed was going to sink in, and I could tell her there was no evidence that he had turned it on. And it would be the truth, as long as the techies didn’t find it.

“Yes, guv, sorry.” He smiled, and then walked back into the flat while I turned to Lainey, I smiled at her, then, took her hand again and began to lead her down the stairs.

“Ron!” I shouted back up. “No access to a phone for him until we’ve locked it all down.”

“Natch.” Ron called back.

Lainey was holding my hand, clinging to it like a lifeline. I tried to give it a reassuring squeeze.

“You liked working at Benyon’s?” I asked as we walked slowly down.

“Yes. Loved it, actually, but ...”

“Want your bloody job back?”

“Yes, if I could.”

I smiled and pulled her to follow me.

I helped her into the car again, and as I fastened my seatbelt, her stomach rumbled. She mumbled an apology, but I felt guilty. She’d not had lunch, and for all I knew, her visit to the café had been for her breakfast and the round-up had interrupted that, so she had probably not eaten all day.

“There’s a Twix or a Mars Bar in the glove box. Help yourself.” I always kept a bar of chocolate in there; with the irregular hours, sometimes I needed emergency food.

“Oh, no. Thank you. That’s kind of you, but I couldn’t ...” before she finished, I leaned over and pulled a Snickers out, dropping it on her lap.

“Eat it, or I may crash the car thinking there’s a grizzly in here.”

She side-eyed me, then laughed a bit and thanked me. As I pulled away, I heard the wrapper crinkle, and then she made a moaning sound as the chocolate hit the spot. I smiled, pleased with myself. I felt like a hunter providing for his mate.

Benyon’s was a store built in Victorian times; the words Department Store were still visible on the towering stacks where the old metal lettering had long-since been removed, yet the brickwork had been shaded by pollution while it was there.

“My brother would love this.” I thought again, but this time I said it aloud.

“Really?” She asked, her face showed genuine interest.

“Yes. He loves old buildings.” I confessed. I kind of understood his appreciation of the beauty, but it wasn’t an obsession for me.

“Is he a historian?”

“No.” I laughed. “He’s a builder.” It was unfair to laugh; older than me, Malcolm ought to have gone to university to study architecture, but neither of us had recognised the importance of formal education at the time, and both had left school and sought practical employment as soon as we could. I’d built up muscle working for him while still at school doing my A Levels, and later while at police college.

“I love it inside.” She told me. “Mr Benyon resists any alterations, even though they keep telling him he’d make more money if he updated. Do you see him much?”

“Who?” Her question was a bit of a non sequitur, but I suddenly understood she meant Malcolm, my brother. “No. He lives up north, on the moors straddling Lancashire and Yorkshire. In an ugly modern monstrosity.” She pulled a questioning face. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you sometime.” That seemed to satisfy her, because she smiled, and then she nodded when I asked her if she was ready.

In the car, on the way to the store, I’d told her what I wanted her to do. It was risky, but I hoped it would give her some power back. The police car was parked a few car lengths down from the store’s entrance on the opposite side of the road. I pulled up behind them, and we both got out. I sent Lainey in the store and went to brief the officers.

Romsey was manhandling her when we got in, trying to push her towards the entrance. “Let her go.” I roared, and I could see the spittle fly from my angry mouth.

“She’s trespassing.” He said, and seeing the officers behind me, added, “Arrest her.” He looked smugly pleased when I indicated to the uniformed police to approach, but less smug when it was him they arrested instead.

“Add assault to the bloody charges.” I told them as they began the process of taking him into custody, and then, taking Lainey’s hand, walked to the back of the imposing shop, past the old-fashioned, glass-fronted display counters.

“Did he hurt you?” I thought perhaps I had taken too big a chance with sending her in alone.

“No. It was quite funny, really. He was freaking out a bit. There’re security cameras at the front there. I think he didn’t want me on them.” Her grip was certainly not as fierce as I had expected, although it was obvious she was still worried.

An older woman, in a black skirt, frilly white blouse, tight perm and with glasses hanging from a chain around her neck - she reminded me of Molly Sugden in Are You Being Served? - blinked as she recognised Lainey. I squeezed her hand leading her to speak.

“Is Mr Benyon in his office?” Her voice, starting out shaky and a little high-pitched, settled by the second syllable of Benyon.

“Yes, Lainey, he is.” It was clear the woman wanted to ask what was happening, and what had happened, but we politely pushed forward, eventually reaching a set of offices. The one at the end bore a brass sign, Mr Benyon, Manager, inscribed on it. I knocked. Forcefully.

“Come in.” Called a voice, so we did.

It was a cosy, if dated-looking room. A large desk - likely oak - dominated the room; wooden filing cabinets, and wooden cupboards occupied the rest of space, and before the desk were a couple of leather-look chairs.

The man behind the desk was well-dressed, ageing and avuncular. He looked at me curiously, but was openly astonished when he saw my companion.

“Lainey?” He stood up. “You’re here. I was told you had left, gone back home to your parents.” He walked around the desk and came to stand beside her. I thought he wanted to embrace her, but he resisted.

“No,” she stuttered out. “I, I was sacked.” Her head swung from him to me, and I could tell it was too much for her. I stepped in.

“Mr Benyon?” He looked at me and shook my proffered hand. “Detective Chief Inspector Graham Mottram. I have some disturbing news, I’m afraid.”

He looked from me to Lainey and back again, before indicating we should sit down. I helped her into one chair before settling myself into the other.

“Can I get you a drink? Tea? Coffee?”

I was about to refuse, but then I thought about her; I’d provided chocolate, but nothing to drink.

“Lainey?” I prompted.

“Could I have some water, please?” She asked, and I nodded in agreement. Mr Benyon walked to a cupboard inside of which was a small fridge, and brought out two small bottles of Pellegrino. He picked up two glasses from the tray above the fridge, and brought them to us, handing one of each to me, and pouring the other bottle into a glass for Lainey. We thanked him and he sat down.

As briefly as I could, and leaving out two rather sensitive details, I explained that Lainey had been sacked by Romsey and refused access to him; that Romsey had been working with her landlord who was trying to push her into prostitution, and that both men had been arrested.

“It’ll be in the papers, I’m afraid.” I said, and saw Lainey jerk from the corner of my eye, “but if, as I am hoping, we can keep Lainey’s name out of it, it will be just one bad egg who used to work for you, and I will make a statement that you were personally eager to rid the store of him.”

I was expecting the idea of negative publicity to be a focus for him, but he surprised me.

“And can you? Keep poor Lainey’s name out of it? From what you’ve told me, she’s been through too much already. I am so sorry, Lainey. That a member of my staff could behave so reprehensibly.” He shook his head in what appeared to be genuine dismay. She was weeping silently, but shook her head back at him, acquitting him of the responsibility.

“I believe I can,” I said, with some relief at his attitude. “There are a number of witnesses with more serious complaints against both men. The evidence has stacked up.”

“Well, that is good news. Thank you.” He spoke directly to me before switching his attention. “Now, Lainey, you must take a few days off, relax a bit while you recover from this ordeal. I will get you back on our books, and your back-pay will be paid into your account, we can sort it so there’s no break in your employment. Have you enough money for the next few days until it credits to your account?”

With a stifled sob, she nodded and thanked him. After a few more exchanges, we left, and I was somewhat fascinated by the young woman beside me who had so impressed the elderly businessman we had just left that he was more concerned about her than I thought any employer was about their workers in real life.

“He likes you.” I said, and yes, there was a bit of suspicion in my mind; occupational hazard I suppose.

“He’s been so good to me,” she answered, tears in her eyes. “Like a grandfather. He said he,” she hesitated, “he said he liked my old-fashioned good manners, and that I wasn’t, well, brash, he said.” I looked down at her, and she was blushing slightly, and I castigated myself for the evil thoughts. She was just kind and sweet, exactly like she seemed, and he’d felt protective towards her. We exited the store, and the street lights were coming on, traffic flow had increased, and the staff behind us were locking up. I checked my watch, it was just after six-thirty. It had been a long day.

“Right,” I said, rubbing my hands together as we got in the car, “a good days’ work deserves a good night out. You game?”

I’d just taken a call from Ron as we left the store. He told me that Romsey had ‘sung like a bird’ in the hope of a more lenient sentence, and that he and James had quite a network of young women, all being used to sleep with wealthy and influential men, all parties being unknowingly filmed. Romsey was insistent that he didn’t profit from the money James was extorting through blackmail, and he didn’t want to face the fourteen plus years that James was looking at. Craddock had been picked up, and, sadly for him, was found with enough drugs – including Rohypnol - for him to be facing a heavy prison term, and he was also apparently willing to name James in exchange for a lighter sentence. None of the blackmail victims had been approached, yet, but there were enough that the case should be a cinch to prosecute.

Lainey looked at me with a mixture of excitement and confusion at my question, the furrow between her eyes finally gone.

“Dinner and drinks with me and the team. I’ll take you home so you can change if you like.” She looked down at herself, fretful. “But you look great, so if you’re happy to, we can go straight over there now.” She nodded.

I drove us to the large trattoria on the corner of Lords Street. It was diagonally opposite the police station and a popular hangout. Large enough to have a separate bar, the owner accepted the presence of police officers every night, and fortunately, the rest of his business didn’t seem to suffer.

Ron, Carl and a few others were already seated at two tables pushed together. Three large pizzas and garlic bread were on platters, and the table was already covered in empty beer bottles. A roar went up when we entered, and I raised my hands, palms out, before accepting the acclaim. Eventually, they quieted, and I spoke, loudly enough to be heard.

“Thank you my friends. Another criminal brought down bang to rights, thanks to my companion here,” I gestured to Lainey, who I found was almost hidden behind me like a toddler accompanying their mother to the front door where a stranger stood, “and to your hard work. Well done!”

A cacophony greeted my words, disturbing the other diners, but no one seemed too upset. I refused the invitation to pull another table up, instead guiding the slightly uncomfortable Lainey to one nearby.

Normally a beer drinker, I asked her what she would like, and she asked for a rosé wine, so I ordered a bottle to share, and we opted for linguine to eat.

Throughout the meal, we chatted about different things; the course she had been going to do at uni and what the issue was with it, why I hardly saw my brother even though we cared about each other, why her family didn’t seem to be bothered about her, what had happened with my first wife (she’d hated the erratic hours), a topic craftily introduced by Lainey when she ingenuously asked if my spouse wouldn’t be wondering where I was. She indulged in some ice cream after the meal, and we learned a little more about one another. At one point, as we drank a coffee, she told me how foolish she felt, and I knew she meant more than just foolish. I tried to reframe her thinking about it all. I’d help her any way I could. I wasn’t a fan of psychology or psychiatry, but if she needed help, I’d make sure she got it. She deserved it.

“He was a parasite,” I told her, “preying on the young and vulnerable. You weren’t the first to be coerced by him, but thanks to you, you’ll be the last. What happened to you wasn’t your fault.”

“But, I had, er, sex with strange men” She whispered the word, sex.

“So? It meant nothing and it means nothing, Lainey. If you’d stayed at uni, you’d probably have gone to parties and ended up sleeping with another student. Later on, you may have regretted it, but in time you’d likely get over it. Treat this the same way. You didn’t choose to be used like that. You didn’t get physically hurt,” I paused then, wondering. I hadn’t asked her that, but she nodded in agreement with me, which was a relief. “And you have less to be ashamed of than they have. Do you think they’re beating themselves up over it?” She shook her head. “Yet, they were in the wrong, consorting with a man they must have known was exploiting young women, drugging them, cheating on their wives, buying sex. They’ll regret it when we haul them in, but until then, they think they’re golden.

“Please, forget about it, Lainey. Forget about them. You made a mistake by trusting the wrong people; you were kind and sweet and bad people took advantage of you. That’s their fault, not yours. We all make mistakes, it’s how we learn. And a lot of good has come from yours.” And I was thinking how I wouldn’t have got to meet her if this awful thing hadn’t occurred, and it seemed dreadful to be in any way grateful for this business to have happened, but a part of me was.

“Right,” I said, pushing my empty wineglass further onto the table, and pushing back my shoulders to relieve aches. “Time to get you home. You need sleep.”

A myriad emotions passed across her face. I scrutinised her as she reddened and looked down. I wasn’t entirely sure what she was thinking, but thought I may have an idea.

“Will you be okay alone in your flat tonight? We’ve taken down the camera.”

Relief, then possibly disappointment flickered in her features. I had been trying to reassure her that I wasn’t going to be expecting her to spend the night with me, which was likely the relief. The disappointment, though?

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.” She said, obviously lying, her eyes cast down and a confused look on her face. I thought about it for a while, then sighed as I realised where her thoughts had gone. She was about to apologise until I raised my eyebrows at her again. I had taken her out to dinner, and she believed I had certain expectations. We had looked into one another’s eyes as we talked. I had held her hand, stroking my fingers across hers. There was a real attraction there, and apparently, she wasn’t entirely averse to the idea of our being together, either, but, for so many reasons, I wasn’t going there. Yet. But I didn’t want her to think it was for any other reason than hard-won altruism.

“Right. Listen to me.” I said firmly. “You have had an exhausting day, so I am taking you home to sleep before you fall asleep on this table.” She pulled a little moue of apprehension. “And that is one reason why I’m not going to try anything on.” Eyes cast down again, and another little blush. “But,” I emphasised, “if you think it’s because I don’t want to sleep with you - for any reason - take a look beneath the table.” She frowned, tilting her head to one side, then repeated my words: ‘Under the ta..?’ Had I had any doubt that she was not what she’d claimed to be when we met - and I had no doubts at all - her expression of shock and embarrassment as she understood my meaning, would have driven them away. Innocent, guileless, naïve. I laughed, and she met my eyes again.

“I’m serious, though, sweetheart. I do want to get to know you better, get to spend more time with you, and eventually build a proper relationship with you.

“And you need to know something, Lainey, I’m not a one-and-done man, so you need to make sure it’s what you want. I’m not an easy man to be with, just ask my ex-wife, and I do work odd hours, sometimes for days straight, so be certain if you want to get involved with me.”

“I’d like to try.” She said, quietly, and we smiled at one another.

I helped her on with her coat and, after a chorus of rowdy goodbyes, (including some misplaced whoops, but I whispered to her to ignore them) took her home where we swapped phone numbers. I could have asked at the restaurant, but I wanted to give her more time to think about it, but she still seemed eager to be able to stay in touch with me.

At the last minute, after I’d said goodbye, and despite my better nature, I decided I’d kiss her goodnight. Turning, I simply touched my lips to her, and then the world tilted on its axis. I grasped the door jamb to steady myself as she drifted into me as if in a faint.

And that’s how I met my new wife.

I leaned back in my chair, having finished my story, and, after readjusting the phone, asked my brother if he could come to the wedding.

“I hope so Graham,” Malcolm said, “she sounds wonderful; just your type. Mine, too, come to that.” He laughed.

“At least we won’t be arguing over her like when we were teenagers.”

Malcolm snorted at the memory of our occasional rivalries.

“No. That’s definitely not going to happen. Anyway, hopefully we’ll make it to the wedding, but first, I want to talk to you about an arrangement.”