‘I think I might be getting the picture,’ he said, his mouth twitching.

‘I’m a bit of a perfectionist.’

‘So I gathered.’ I could tell he was trying not to laugh, and I was beginning to regret being so honest.

‘You did ask,’ I pointed out defensively.

‘I did. Maybe I should have asked you what you do like.’

‘I like my job.’

‘Being a secretary?’

I nodded. ‘Organisations like Gibson & Grieve don’t work unless executives have proper administrative back-up. I like organising things, checking details, pulling everything together. I like making sure everything is in its right place. That’s why I like filing. I find it satisfying.’

Phin didn’t say anything. He just looked at me across the table.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, putting up my chin. ‘I do. Shoot me.’

He grinned at that. ‘So…an unexpectedly kind, nitpicking perfectionist with an irrational prejudice against poor punctuation and a bizarre attachment to filing. I think we’re getting somewhere. What else do I need to know about you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing? There must be more than that.’

I drank my coffee, unaccountably flustered. I was more thrown than I wanted to admit by the blueness of his eyes, by that lazy smile and the sheer vitality of his presence. There was a whole table between us, but I was finding it hard to breathe.

‘I really don’t know what you want me to tell you,’ I said. ‘I’m twenty-six, I share a flat in south London with a friend, and my life is the exact opposite of yours.’

His eyes gleamed at that, and he leant forward. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you come from a wealthy family whose stores are a household name,’ I pointed out. ‘You make television programmes doing the kind of things the rest of us would never dare to do, and when you’re not skiing down a glacier or hacking through a jungle you’re at all the A-list parties-usually with a beautiful girl on your arm. The closest I get to an A-list party is reading about one in Glitz, and I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than set foot in a rainforest. We don’t have a single thing in common.’