Page 50 of Fire Must Burn

He didn’t speak for a moment, his face suddenly serious.

Her face fell.

‘Oh, God, you weren’t going to!’ she cried. ‘I’m such a damn fool!’

He leaned towards her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

‘I am definitely asking you for another date, Evie,’ he said. ‘What I was wondering is whether or not I should kiss you right now.’

‘If you’re seeking my input on the question—’ she said.

‘I am.’

‘Then I would heartily endorse the idea.’

He closed the distance between them. The kiss was gentle and slow, and when they separated, she looked up at him, her eyes brimming.

‘I’m awfully glad you did that,’ she whispered. ‘I’m very much looking forward to our next date.’

‘I will ring you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Now, let me get you back to your warder before the portcullis is lowered.’

She glanced around when they reached the door, then turned and kissed him again quickly before turning the key and slipping inside. The last glimpse he had of her was her turning to smile at him one last time through the diminishing sliver of the doorway before it closed entirely.

Promising start, he thought to himself as he turned andheaded to the Tube station. He took the underground to Pimlico, from where it was a six-minute walk to Grenville House. He went through the Grosvenor Road entrance, then, not quite trusting the lift, which had made some disturbing grinding noises when he had taken it in the morning, bounded up the stairs until he reached the fifth storey.

His flat faced Dolphin Square East, his view being of the rooftops of the houses separating Grenville House from St George’s Square, a park beloved of the local dogs and their owners. He switched on the lights when he entered, wincing slightly at the bareness of it. He had the furniture deliverers coming in the morning, with luck. He had left the windows closed, and the place felt stuffy. He opened the parlour window and threw back the shutters. Then he went into the bedroom, turned on the overhead lamp, and repeated the process with that window as well, leaving the door between the two rooms open to provide some ventilation.

He turned away from the window and started heading towards the bathroom.

Which meant he had his back to the explosion.

Iris was distracted at The Right Sort the next day, twitching every time the telephone rang, waiting for the muffled tones of Mrs Billington next door to be followed by the news that it was Tony calling.

‘He may be busy,’ said Gwen. ‘He does have a job, you know.’

‘He said he would call,’ said Iris.

‘This may be a smaller matter in his life than it is in ours,’ Gwen pointed out.

‘I know,’ said Iris. ‘But the longer it takes, the more disproportionately grow my anxieties about it.’

‘You said once we set him up with Miss Lowle we were done with this,’ said Gwen. ‘You weren’t happy doing it, so don’t make yourself more unhappy worrying over it.’

‘Everything you say makes perfect sense. It follows that since I’m ignoring it all I am clearly not in my right mind.’

‘Focus on the work,’ suggested Gwen. ‘We have real couples to match, remember?’

Around three o’clock, the telephone rang. Then the intercom buzzed. Iris answered it right away.

‘It’s Mr Danielli,’ said Mrs Billington.

‘I’ll pass the telephone to Gwen,’ said Iris.

‘No, he wants to speak with you,’ said Mrs Billington.

‘Oh. Fine, put him through,’ she said, picking up the handset. ‘Hello, Sally. What’s up?’

‘Have you seen theEvening Standardyet?’ he asked.