'I'm an accountant,' he says.

I start to laugh, then stop. 'Oh, um, really? I thought you were kidding.'

'That's why I never tell anyone,' he says, shaking his head. 'It's an instant conversation stopper.'

'What kind of accounting is it?'

'The heady world of corporate finance,' he says, crunching more pretzels.

'Sexy. Is it your dream job?'

'Erm, yes, I guess so,' he says. 'You know, I ploughed the postgrad, then studied law in the States, then realised I didn't want to be a lawyer . . . I felt like such a fuck up. Nothing fit. But somehow, I ended up in the right place,' he says. 'Everyone does eventually.'

'I hope so,' I say, sighing. 'I can't believe that after all that fuss about not telling me what you do, you're an accountant.'

'I'm private. And I have better things to talk about. Though it's not as boring as everyone thinks.'

'I think you're a control freak,' I say. 'That's why you pump and dump women like you do.'

'"Pump and dump"? Nice. Sex is actually fun for everyone involved, has anyone ever told you that?'

'Ha,' I say, thinking about Dave. There's a pause. 'What are you doing for Christmas, by the way?'

'I'm working, mostly, with a bit of family time. My sister Alice is coming over with her kids. Every Christmas morning should have an overexcited four-year-old, it makes it much more fun for everyone. You?'

'I'm in France from Christmas Eve till New Year's Eve.'

'You get along with your parents, don't you?'

'Yes, I love them. But they think we're still aged seven and nine. I swear my mother would be thrilled if I came home with a report card from work at the end of each year.'

'I would have thought you'd love that, too,' he says, and pretends to read from a report card. 'Abigail is a delightfully serious, bright and enthusiastic child, she plays well with others, especially after a few shots . . .'

'Shuddup,' I say, poking him with my toe. 'Anyway, Sophie's leaving early this year to be with Luke . . . I wish I was coming back to London early, then you and I could go drinking and have fun.'

And I could see Dave, if he is even going to be in London. Which I don't know, because he doesn't ever bring up the future, and neither do I. And he doesn't even know that it's my birthday on the 1st of January, because I don't want him to think I'm just telling him so he'll buy me a present. God, the game-playing is getting exhausting.

Thinking all this, I sigh.

'Don't worry about him,' says Robert. 'Dave likes girls who don't chase him.'

'I don't chase him,' I say irritably. 'Stop reading my mind. It's casual. We don't ever discuss, you know, feelings.'

'Good. I'm against that kind of filth, myself.'

'Surely you must get fond of your ladyfriends sometimes. You're not a heartless bastard underneath, I know you're not.'

'I get very fond of them. I love their company. I just don't love . . . them.'

'Do they ever fall in love with you?'

He shrugs. That's a yes, then. 'I try to keep that sort of thing, uh, to the bare minimum.'

'Why not just say, I love you, so they feel good, and then hand them a terms and conditions contract saying, limited time only, offer subject to change, etc.'

Robert laughs for a very long time at this. I love making Robert laugh, I think suddenly. He has a loud, unselfconscious guffaw.

'Seriously, don't worry about Dave,' he says later .

'You have to stop mind-reading me,' I say. 'It's getting weird.'

'But it's so easy. You're like a book,' he says. 'A kid's book with very big print. Like The Very Hungry Caterpillar.'

'That was my favourite!' I exclaim. 'I used to read it whenever I was upset.'

'Me too,' he says, sipping his drink. 'I hate Jack Daniel's.'

'Me too,' I agree, taking another sip. 'Shall we have another? Oh! I love this song,' I say, as 'Santa Baby' comes on. We both start singing along, with Robert doing a very bad Eartha Kitt impression.

'Is anything happening with Vix, by the way?' I ask, when the song has finished and 'Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire' comes on, which neither of us knows the words to. 'Obviously it's difficult because she's in Edinburgh, but are you guys in post-pull contact?'

'I wasn't with Vix in France,' says Robert in surprise. 'I thought you knew that.'

'No,' I say, shocked. 'But you came downstairs together.'

'We slept in the same bed, me on top of the sheets, and her underneath,' he says. 'There weren't any other beds and we'd been up late, talking about her love life. Nothing else happened.'

I'm stunned. Does it seem odd to you that Robert, the great lothario, would lie in bed with a pretty girl and not make a move? Perhaps he knows it's unwise to plunder the wedding party, as Sophie warned. I'm about to ask him, when my phone rings. Dave! My chest leaps in delight. I reach for my phone and nearly fall off the couch.

'Don't answer too fast,' advises Robert. 'Keep him waiting.'

I shoot him a glare and then hold the ringing phone for a second to compose myself. I look at the screen. Yep, it's Dave.

'Why, hello,' I say casually.

'Why, hello to you,' mimics Dave. 'May I speak to Abigail Wood, please?' He's slurring slightly.

'One second please,' I respond, and then sing some hold music in a very high voice ('Are You Going To Scarborough Fair'), before clearing my throat. 'Hello, this is Abigail speaking.'

'Ah! Abigail. Your secretary was very slow to answer the phone. You should fire her.'

'I shall,' I say. 'I shall beat her thoroughly first, obviously.' My eyes flick up to Robert, who looks like he's checking texts. I wonder if he's listening. 'How may I be of service to you this evening, good sir?'

'It is I who would like to service you, my girl. Very slowly and thoroughly.'

'Everyone's got a dream,' I say.

'Cheeky bitch. Right, my house. Twenty minutes.'

I look out the window. 'It's raining. Can't you come here?'

'Don't go,' says Robert in a low voice. 'Don't let him boss you around.'

'Is that Grandpa Robbie?' says Dave. 'Fine, I'll come there.'

'No, don't,' I say quickly. I suddenly have no desire to see Robert and Dave indulge in their competitive put-downs, or for that matter, to take Dave up to my bedroom when Robert's here. I don't know why, but it would be weird. 'I'll be there in half an hour.'

'Hurry,' says Dave, and hangs up.

The Christmas music has stopped, and I sit back on the sofa next to Robert and smile at him. He grins back, but he's not quite meeting my eyes. The room seems incredibly silent. I take a deep breath.

'Look, I get the picture. You don't like me seeing Dave,' I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth nervously. 'But it's only casual, you know, and I promise not to steal him away from you, and I know you don't get involved in each other's, um, love lives, but I was your friend before I even met Dave, and I still want to be your friend. I also know you guys have a complicated friendship, and I don't want to, um, become a pawn in your stupid macho chess game.' Robert grins at this, which I take as a positive sign. 'So, please, don't be annoyed with me for seeing him. I am having fun. Which is the point, remember?'

Robert nods slowly, drains the last of his Jack Daniel's and Coke, and gets up off the couch. 'Absolutely. Shall I call us a cab to share? Lady Caroline needs me.'

Chapter Twenty Six.

The next Sunday evening, when I'm in bed with Dave, something unexpected happens.

'This is nice,' he says, nuzzling me in the darkness.

'Nice?' I say. 'That's the best you can do?'

'This is lovely,' he murmurs, pulling me closer to him. 'You're lovely. I've had the best time this weekend.'

That's because we spent the last two days in and out of bars and bed. And the entire time I had to keep up my slightly tiring sassy-comeback routine. But moments like this, when his barriers are down and it's just us whispering in the darkness, make everything worthwhile.

I sigh happily in the dark and fight the urge to kiss his shoulder.

'I don't think we should give Christmas presents,' I say. I've been wanting to bring this up, mostly because well, I don't think he has any intention of getting me anything, and I don't want him or anyone else to think that disappoints me. I'm totally cool with it. 'To each other, I mean.'

'Is this a trick? This feels like a trick . . .' he says.

'No,' I say, laughing. 'I mean, I know that you've been planning a Christmas extravaganza for me, and everything, but well, I think it'll be easier,' I pause, and add in my faux-sparky-banter way, 'Anyway, more importantly, I don't have anything for you and I simply don't have the time or inclination to battle Christmas crowds.'

'You're so cute,' he says, and we start kissing again. 'You and me,' he says, after a few minutes. 'We should do this. Let's just do it, fuck it, let's do it.'

'Right,' I say, barely breathing in the darkness. What exactly does 'let's just do it' mean, do you think? 'How, uh . . . do you mean?'

'You are a tough little thing, aren't you?' he says. I'm not tough at all, I think, I'm just pretending. 'We make it official,' Dave says, pulling my leg up and around his body. He likes to arrange me like this, pulling and prodding me around him for the perfect cuddle. 'We tell everyone we're together,' he continues, his lips on my throat, kissing and nibbling in between words. 'I've always wanted to be with a girl like you.'

I think I might pass out from elation, but I manage to keep my voice steady. 'I think that can be arranged. I'll have my people call your people . . .'

'She damns me with her faint affection! So elusive. The elusive Miss Wood . . .'

'Sorry,' I say, and pause, staring in the darkness. Can I let my guard down? Can I take a risk? 'I'd love that.' My voice breaks on 'love'. Bugger.

'Good girl,' he says. I wish I could see his face, to see if he looks as happy as I am that we're having this conversation. But I can't. Then he kisses me and as usual, my brain short-circuits.

The next morning, the alarm goes off at 6 am to get us up in time for work. Since it's the week before Christmas, you'd think my office would become a little more festive and relaxed, but no. My entire floor will be at their desks by 7.15 am, latest.

'Do you want a lift home today?' asks Dave, getting out of bed a few minutes later. He's never offered this before, and I've never asked.

'Yes, please,' I say. I can't help but smile from ear-to-ear.

'You do have a sexy little grin, don't you?' he asks, jumping back on the bed and making a grab for me. 'Look at you, with your bird-nest hair. I love it. It makes you even more fuckable.'

'Off! Go and shower and then drive me home or I'll be late for work,' I say, trying to sound cool and tough instead of giddy with elation.

Dave saunters, naked, to his bathroom, and a moment later I hear him singing 'I've Got A Lovely Bunch Of Coconuts'. I snigger to myself. He's so damn adorable.

Except when he takes 30 minutes to dress and do his hair.

By the time I'm home, it's almost 20 to seven and I'm late. I run into the house. Robert is sitting by himself at the kitchen bench, eating porridge and drinking coffee.

'Fuck!' I shout at him, throwing my coat, scarf, hat and gloves on the couch.

'You're late!' he replies.

'Dave's fault!' I yell back down the stairs. I'm feeling tense: we almost bickered in the car. Dave doesn't like other people being irritated with him. Even when he's about to make them seriously late for work. But that's okay. Because he and I are really, officially, seriously-for-serious together.

I shower as quickly as I can, going through my now-regular combing-out-the-bedhair-with-conditioner motion. I dress hurriedly in black trousers and a black turtleneck, frantically blow-dry my hair, tie it up in a very high chignon, and then calm down for a few minutes so that I can apply my make-up properly. (Make-up in a hurry never works out, like eating when running or reading when drunk.) 'It's almost five past seven, what are you still doing here?' I gasp, when I run back into the kitchen. He always leaves by 6.45 am.

'I thought you might need an emergency lift,' he says. 'It's Christmas Eve in four days. No company expects people at work on time.'

'Mine does,' I say. 'A lift would be wonderful, lovely Roberto.'

Robert hands me a coffee and a bowl of porridge and heads up to his room, calling over his shoulder: 'Eat and drink. We'll leave in five.'

Gulping my thanks through coffee, I sit down. The porridge is just how I like it: made with water not milk, plus blueberries and almonds chopped into thirds (not halves! thirds!) sprinkled on top. He returns a few minutes later and hands me a large bag. 'Cold weather kit for the moped. You'll freeze without it.'

'You have spare cold weather kit?' I say in surprise.

He shakes his head. 'I picked it up for you ages ago, but then we haven't been going to work together . . .'

'Thank you!' I exclaim, reaching up to give him a hug. 'That's so thoughtful of you. And practical. How much do I owe you for it?' He leans forward and hugs me awkwardly with one hand, the other still carrying the bag.

'Nothing. It's my treat . . . Try them on.' Robert watches me as I wriggle into the clothes and stifles a grin.

'Am I both warm AND sexy?' I ask. I'm wearing waterproof elasticised black trousers and a matching zip-up coat. 'God! I look like one of those fat cops in The Fifth Element.'