Tear it up.

Read it first.

No, just tear it up and throw it away, it’s better not to know. OK, stop, stop. Sally closed her eyes. She loved Gabe and that meant she had to be honest with him.

Fear beat like a bird inside her chest. Over the years, being honest hadn’t always come naturally to her. As she pushed open the bathroom door it crossed her mind that this could be the last time she saw his body naked. And she’d only just got to know it. Oh God, could she do this?

‘Gabe?’ She opened the shower cubicle an inch, experienced a little frisson of lust at the sight of him and said, ‘I’ve got something for you.’

Steam billowed out of the cubicle. Gabe turned, shampoo streaming down his face as he rinsed his hair. With a grin he opened the door wider and in one movement pulled her into the shower.The next moment she was minus her sodden dressing gown. ‘That’s a coincidence,’ he said playfully, ‘I’ve got something for you too.’

Honestly, what a wasted opportunity; if she’d taken the envelope in with her, the ink would have run and the letter would have been rendered illegible, neatly solving all her problems in one go.

Except she hadn’t thought of that, had she? Instead, like a complete durr-brain, she’d dropped it onto the tiled floor as Gabe was yanking her into the shower. And here it was, patiently waiting for them when they eventually emerged, twenty highly pleasurable minutes later.

‘OK, don’t be cross with me.’ Sally retrieved the envelope and handed it to him. ‘This arrived a couple of weeks ago, then it went missing. And that was your fault because you made me tidy the flat.’ She kissed him hard on the mouth. ‘I just found it under the sofa inside a magazine.’

Gabe, who found her self-imposed ban hilarious, said affectionately, ‘Not that you’d ever look inside one of those.’

‘I lapsed. I’m only human. Anyway, read your letter.’ Grabbing a white bath towel and wrapping it around herself, Sally hastily left the bathroom.

Mystified, Gabe shook back his hair then opened the envelope. The letter was handwritten in turquoise ink.

Dearest Gabe, I deleted your number from my phone to stop myself from becoming your nuisance caller, hence this letter.

Well, I’ve decided the time has come to show the world the real me. And I want to use the photos you took. Hope that’s OK with you. If you want me to give you the credit and a byline, get in touch. If I don’t hear from you I’ll be discreet and won’t use your name. I shall also donate the fee for the article and your photos to Alopecia UK.

All love Say Xxx

Gabe smiled and wondered how much money he’d missed out on. He could have used it to leave the papping life behind him and start afresh in a studio ... Oh well, never mind, toolate to worry about it now. The charity wouldn’t be too thrilled if he were to ring them and demand his share of the fee back. And in time he would set up on his own, specialising in portrait photography. At least Savannah had made the effort to contact him, which was good of her.

He was glad she’d thought of him.

Sally was outside the bathroom, waiting for him and visibly bracing herself. ‘Well?’

She’d probably had her ear pressed up against the door. ‘It’s fine. Nothing important.’

He saw her exhale. ‘Really? Oh thank God.You’re not cross that I didn’t tell you?’

Gabe shook his head. ‘No’

Sally hugged him. ‘Sorry. I love you.’ She leaned back, gazing into his eyes. ‘You’re sure it’s OK?’

‘I love you too.’ Kissing her, Gabe said, ‘And I’m sure. It was just someone wanting me to take a few photos of them. I’d probably have said no anyway.’

•

‘Girlie handwriting.’

‘That would be because it was written by a girl.’

‘Pretty?’

‘Yes.’

‘Girlfriend of yours?’ Sally ventured.

Had Savannah ever really been his girlfriend? Not if he was honest. Gabe shook his head. ‘No, just a friend. And I won’t be hearing from her again now.’

‘Well, good. Especially if she’s pretty.’ Sally eyed the letter folded in his hand. ‘Can I read it?’

‘Why? Don’t you trust me?’Then, when she hesitated, ‘Look, I know you’ve had a rotten time with men in the past, but I’m not like them.’

‘I know’

Gabe held up the letter. ‘Here, you can read it if you want.’ Sally visibly relaxed. ‘It’s OK. I don’t need to.You can throw it away.’

‘Trust me?’

‘I trust you.’

Gabe softened. Slowly but surely he would convince her that he’d never let her down, that she was the most important person in his life. Dropping the letter into the loo, he pulled the flush and said, ‘Good’

Lola was on the shop floor rebuilding a display of cookery books that had been casually demolished by a student’s backpack. As she balanced Delia on top of Jean-Christophe Novelli —

ha, it was all right for some — a woman with a bag-laden pushchair came racing into the shop.

Flustered and clearly in a state of panic she rushed up to Lola. ‘Excuse me, do you have a loo?’

The boy lolling in the pushchair glanced up at Lola, typical male, sublimely unconcerned by the problems he was causing. Feeling sorry for the woman — this was the joys of motherhood for you — Lola said, ‘Yes, over there to the left of the biographies, right at the back of the shop.’

The perspiring woman gasped, ‘Thanks so much,’ picked up the carton of fruit juice her son had just chucked to the ground and yanked the pushchair to the left. ‘Come on, Tom, let’s go.’

Before she could scoot him away, the little boy beamed up at Lola and said in a loud, conspiratorial voice, ‘Mummy’s got to do a big poo.’ Which hugely entertained everyone else in the vicinity. Sniggers abounded as the poor mortified woman scurried off. Normally an event like this would have made Lola’s day. Instead she carried on propping up books.

‘Are you all right?’ Cheryl arrived with another box of hardbacks to add to the display.

‘I think I need something to look forward to.’ Lola’s stomach rumbled as she said it. Checking her watch and realising it was twelve fifteen, she said impulsively, ‘Like a really nice lunch.

How about coming with me to Rossano’s? My treat.’

But Cheryl was already looking awkward and shaking her head. ‘Today? Sorry, can’t make it.

I’ve got an appointment.’

‘Oh.’ Why didn’t that sound believable — apart from the fact that Cheryl was the world’s most feeble liar?

‘Sorry! But some other time, definitely!’

Lola nodded. ‘Who’s your appointment with?’

‘Um ... a doctor.’

Well, how about that? Untruthfuller and untruthfuller. Lola looked concerned. ‘Are you ill?’

‘N-no.’

‘Pregnant?’

No!’

This was fascinating. Her assistant manager was by this time the colour of a plum.

‘I think I can guess,’ said Lola. ‘It’s Botox.’

Cheryl’s shoulders sagged with relief. ‘Yes, Botox.’

‘The time has come and you’re giving it a whirl.’

‘Well, you know’ Cheryl touched her forehead. ‘I’ve been getting a bit ... frowny lately.

Lola nodded. ‘I’ve noticed that too. Look, why don’t I come along and hold your hand?’

Cheryl said hurriedly, ‘Oh, there’s no need, it’s just a preliminary appointment to have a chat about it. I haven’t made my mind up quite yet.’

One o’clock arrived and there was only one thing for it.Lola left the shop first with a cheery,

‘Good Luck!’ and melted into the crowds of shoppers on the opposite side of the road. In all honesty, there was nothing like a spot of harmless sleuthing to cheer a girl up on a Tuesday lunchtime.

When Cheryl emerged from Kingsley’s five minutes later she turned left and headed up Regent Street at quite a pace. Lola tucked the collar of her black coat up around her neck, as all the good spies do, and followed at a discreet distance. Cheryl had re-done her make-up and taken her hair out of its ponytail. She was wearing a swingy white jacket over her red dress and the flat grey pumps she wore for work had been replaced with crimson high heels. She looked lovely.Any syringe-wielding medic would have been impressed. Relieved she hadn’t flagged down a cab, Lola stayed on her tail as she plunged down a side street. With fewer people around she’d be spotted if Cheryl looked back, might have to pretend to be engrossed in the eye-popping display

— yeek! — in the window of this Soho sex shop.

But Cheryl didn’t look back. She carried on heading deeper into Soho. Finally reaching Wardour Street, she paused outside a super-chic, green and silver-fronted restaurant. Lola hung back, watching with interest as she ran up the steps and disappeared inside.

Well, this was interesting. Cheryl was without question meeting a man and chances were that his interest in her wasn’t medical. (Why, Doctor, is that a Botox syringe in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?’) The big puzzle was, why was she being so evasive about it? OK, only one way to find out.

‘Good afternoon,’ said the charming blonde receptionist. ‘May I help you?’ The interior of the restaurant was pale green and silver, modern and expensive-looking and curvy

‘Hi there, I’m supposed to be meeting my friend,’ said Lola. ‘Her name’s Cheryl Dixon.’

‘I’m sorry, madam, we don’t have a booking in that name.’

‘I know, I’m so sorry, I can’t remember the name of the other person.’ Lola smiled, determined to out-charm the receptionist, and attempted to sneak a look at the list of names on the computer screen. ‘My friend just came in a minute ago, she’s wearing red stilettos.’

The receptionist swiftly swung the computer screen around so Lola couldn’t see it.