‘Pretty Woman’s rather like Mummy,’ said Masha.

It was unfortunate for Rachel that on his way home to Magpie Cottage after the children had been tucked up in bed, Lysander saw a light ahead in Jasmine Cottage. Crawling past, because of a car casually parked outside, he saw a couple in a clinch in the doorway. Then the man ran down the steps. Turning, blowing a kiss to the woman, he was spotlit for a second in Lysander’s headlights. It was a triumphantly smirking Rannaldini.

Having dropped off the three children at school the following morning, Kitty set out for Tesco’s. As she staggered out half an hour later, pushing two groaning trolleys of food for supper after the nativity play which she was going to cook and freeze that day, she suddenly saw that a big pot of yoghurt was leaking. Leaning forward to remove it, she took her hand from the right-hand trolley which veered off with a mind of its own. Gathering speed it rolled down a small slope and, narrowly missing an ancient pensioner with a string bag, went slap into a dark green Porsche, scraping it down one side, then toppling over with a sickening crash of broken glass.

‘Oh, God,’ screamed Kitty, surveying the debris of pastry cases and cracked eggs, floating in a disgusting goo of double cream, yoghurt, Hellmann’s, whisky and red wine. ‘It’s not fair, it’s not bloody fair.’

It took her ages to clear up the chaos. Then she put a note on the Porsche’s windscreen: ‘Dear Driver, I’m ever so sorry about your car. I will pay all damage. Could you write to me at Valhalla, Paradise? Yours truly, Kitty Rannaldini.’

That’s all my running-away money and more, she was thinking despairingly, when the note was whipped away.

‘Car looks much better that way. Gives it character,’ said a voice.

Springing round, Kitty saw Lysander. ‘Mrs Brimscombe said you were here,’ he said, opening the door of the Porsche for her.

‘That’s not your car,’ stammered Kitty.

‘Garage lent it to me,’ said Lysander. ‘Ferrari’s got engine trouble. Honestly, it couldn’t matter less.’

He was feeling very virtuous. Finding Georgie’s paying-in book under the bed at Magpie Cottage, he’d written her a cheque for fifty thousand, the sum she’d paid him overall for his services, and despatched it to her bank. He thus cancelled any debt between them.

‘Look what I’ve got!’ He waved two tickets for Miss Saigon. ‘You and I are going on a seriously good jaunt.’

‘I can’t. Rannaldini came ’ome unexpectedly last night, and buzzed off this morning to LA, leaving me so much more to do. Anyway,’ she sighed, ‘I’m married. I don’t fink I should.’

‘Pretend you’re going Christmas shopping.’

They took the train to Paddington. The restaurant car attendant was so taken with Lysander that he ran them up some bullshots.

‘They’re heavenly,’ said Kitty, taking a great gulp. ‘What’s in them?’

‘Oh, clear soup and tomato juice,’ said Lysander, conveniently forgetting the huge tots of vodka and sherry. ‘Have another.’

‘Oh, yes please. I’ve never travelled first class before.’

Kitty gazed in ecstasy at the silver foam of blackthorn dividing the frozen fields and the furry white-antlered branches of the trees tossing a glittering yellow sun as it bowled along with the train. What was the point of life where she was always rushing and never had time to look at beautiful things? She didn’t even worry when they bumped into the vicar’s wife as they got off the train.

Lysander took her straight to Harrods.

‘I’m going to buy you a dress,’ he said as he went down the rails pulling out clothes and being gazed at by Way-In shop assistants, not over-busy because of the recession.

He finally chose one in dark grey-green wool, which matched Kitty’s eyes and showed off her bosom and now so-much-slimmer waist, but which had a flowing skirt which disguised her still plump hips.

‘Lovely,’ he said, looking at her in delight. ‘Like ivy clinging to a beautiful statue.’

The dress was followed by black tights and flat, black pumps.

‘You’re never to wear those flesh-coloured horrors again. Now we better buy something to keep you warm.’ And ignoring her cries of protest, he chose her a blanket coat in a rainbow riot of colours, three pairs of leggings and two huge, sloppy jerseys.

Whisking her past the baby-wear department: ‘You don’t want to look at them — only depress you. It’ll happen one day, I promise,’ he bore her off to the toy department to admire huge stuffed donkeys, giraffes, tigers, lions, gorillas and teddy bears.

‘They always remind me of a dogs’ home,’ said Lysander. ‘I used to try not to catch their eyes when Mum brought me here as a child. We ought to go to Battersea and get you a puppy to protect you at Valhalla.’

Instead, when she was looking at computer games to keep Cosmo quiet at Christmas, he bought her a vast fluffy life-size collie with a shiny black plastic nose.

‘Here’s Lassie, to guard you.’

‘Oh, Lysander,’ Kitty was overjoyed, ‘you shouldn’t ’ave, but I love her.’

‘In a place that won’t let us feel,

in a life where nothing seems real,’ sang Miss Saigon as they passed the record department. Next minute they were brought up short by Rannaldini’s cold unsmiling face, looking out from a montage of his record sleeves, as the haunting strains of the first movement of Mahler’s Fourth with its jangling sleigh-bells swept through the store.

Turning right, they saw huge blow-ups of Cecilia and Hermione as Donna Anna and Donna Elvira and even a cardboard cut-out of Georgie clutching a rock.

‘Fucking hell,’ said Lysander in outrage, and before reality could reassert itself, he dragged Kitty off to lunch at San Lorenzo.

Here her calm, sweet unmade-up face and full body were in total contrast to the slender, painted beauties around them, who all seemed to be wearing scarlet and crimson suits, lots of rouge, red lipstick and red nails, and seemed never to draw breath. They were obviously fascinated to see an utterly stunning man with such a nondescript girl.

They’re all so beautiful, thought Kitty.

She’s so peaceful, thought Lysander protectively, like a leveret, or a female mallard.

He also noticed, as her face, used to Rannaldini’s cold house, grew pink in the warm room that her spots had gone.

‘I do hope Joy Hillary tells Rannaldini she saw us on the train,’ he said, ‘and makes him seriously jealous.’

With a start, Kitty remembered they were only here because Lysander was being paid by Georgie and Marigold to glam her up. How very kind, she thought humbly, of him to make everything such fun.

‘It’s driving me crazy.’ A blonde paused at their table on the way out. ‘What part in EastEnders do you play?’ she asked Kitty.

But later when the helicopter landed on the stage of the Coliseum, she forgot everything except Miss Saigon, as she and Lysander cried their eyes out and went through a whole box of Kleenex and a box of Belgian chocolates.

‘That was the best fing I’ve ever seen,’ she said, as they had supper together afterwards in a Fulham wine bar. ‘I fink this is the nicest day I’ve ever had.’

She’s so sweet to take out, thought Lysander.

‘I wish you weren’t so terrified of horses, then we could ride together.’

‘I’m not frightened of Arfur,’ said Kitty, tucking into her cottage cheese salad. ‘But the way he drinks coffee, and snores wiv one eye open, and gets hisself dirty, he’s not really an ’orse, he’s more of a ’uman.’

‘I think that’s the nicest compliment Arthur’s ever been paid,’ said Lysander gravely. ‘Thank you, Kitty.’

They talked so long and drank so many cups of coffee, Kitty suddenly realized they’d missed the last train.

‘We’ll go back to my old pad,’ said Lysander. ‘I’ve still got a key. Ferdie’s away this evening. It’s all right,’ he added, seeing the look of panic on Kitty’s face, ‘you’re quite safe with me and there are two bedrooms.’

I’m chaperoned by my own plainness, thought Kitty sadly. No-one looking like me could cause talk.

‘No-one will see us,’ said Lysander as the taxi turned into Fountain Street. But as he rushed in to switch off the burglar alarm, the gays opposite parted their damask curtains and started waving frantically.

‘What a lovely little ’ouse,’ said Kitty, thinking how easy it would be to keep a place like this nice, ‘and you could put camellias in tubs in the little patio at the back.’

Lysander put Kitty in Ferdie’s room with the big bay window looking over the street. She could see the gays peering in as she drew the curtains. Lysander had found her a glamorous cream silk nightdress left behind by one of his girlfriends. It slithered over her like a skin. If only she could take on the beauty of its original owner.

All the same, she thought, as she set Ferdie’s alarm clock for six-thirty and snuggled down in bed with the toy Lassie stiff-legged beside her, it had been the nicest day of her life. Lysander had made her feel like one of the romantic heroines she so loved reading about, not a drag, nor a dog, nor even a brick. With a guilty start, as she was falling asleep, she realized she’d forgotten to say her prayers. Perhaps for once God would forgive her if she did it lying down.

‘Please God, bring Lysander happiness and find him a nice girl who’ll look after him and not take advantage of his sweet nature.’

Unused to London traffic crashing along the end of the street, Lysander woke at six, and was horrified to hear Ferdie coming in from a night on the tiles. Not wanting to get shouted at and still half-asleep, he pulled the duvet over his head, hoping the trouble would go away. He heard Ferdie’s bedroom door open, then after a long pause while he waited for an explosion, it shut again. Relieved, Lysander went back to sleep.