Olivier held the door for me as I collected my faux fur cape and clutch bag, and then we made our way down to the taxi. He was easy to talk to, with a dry sense of humor I liked immediately.

"So if anyone asks-which they will-where did we meet?" he asked me.

"I hadn't thought about that," I replied.

"Well, I usually find that saying we met at a friend of a friend's dinner party tends to work," he twinkled. "Hearing about other people's dinner parties is so boring, you don't generally get any more personal questions after that."

I had been worried that I'd hear the minutes ticking by and fret about what this was costing me, but Olivier was excellent value for money. In fact I didn't notice the hours passing at all. At the dinner table, he was excellent company, more than a match for the high-powered bankers I'd asked him to mix with, giving away little about himself but asking questions that made people feel important, flirting slightly with the other women but always keeping a hand on my arm to show he was with me. At the beginning of the evening, I found this hand a warm reassurance; by the time dinner was over, Olivier's touch was beginning to arouse me.

Two female colleagues approached me in the bathroom while I was reapplying my makeup.

"He's gorgeous," breathed one. "If you ever get bored, I'll take him!"

I didn't tell her that he was only a click away, but he'd had the desired effect: the men were impressed, and the women were jealous. I could have left then, and I would still have made my point. But I didn't want to. I wanted him to stick around a little while longer.

Liveried servants cleared the banquet tables and pushed them against the wall, turning the long hall into a dance floor. A band struck up a slow, sexy tune.

"Now," said Olivier, taking me by the hand. "Now we make them really jealous."