Tommy had chosen an Italian restaurant he knew tucked in a quiet corner of Belgravia. It was small and informal, the sort of place Barbara would feel at ease. He knew though that he had selected it mainly for its proximity to his house. That might be handy if things progressed as he hoped they might. This was not some lust-filled dalliance. With only a little bit of thought Tommy knew he had fallen in love with Barbara. In fact he had known it since the Thompson case, he had just elected to ignore it and think himself a sentimental fool.

Barbara suspected as he drove that any restaurant he chose would be close to either of their places. She could feel the vibes coming from him. She was not sure if they were expectant, hopeful or simply the product of six months of abstinence. The rational part of her brain wanted her to run. She should stop this craziness before it began. It might be different if he actually loved her but Tommy could never love her; not the way she loved him. Her hormones however were winning the fight. After ten years of secretly pining for his touch they were determined to at least accept a kiss if it was offered. Any more would need to be assessed at the time her logical side argue. She felt the scorn of her body and knew rational thought would lose.

"In here," Tommy said as he opened the door.

The restaurant was on a corner. Its windows were shaded by red and white checked curtains and the restaurant name was emblazoned in fading gold paint. A handful of small wooden tables and chairs filled the interior. An older, large woman in a white peasant blouse and full black skirt came to greet them with a kiss on both cheeks. "Ah Tommy! It's been too long. Far too long. We were sorry about Helen." The woman smiled kindly at Barbara. "It is good that you bring such a beautiful friend to meet us."

"Maria, this is Barbara, my colleague."

Barbara and Maria exchanged smiles. "Colleague Tommy?"

"Friend," he replied. It had been a mistake bringing Barbara here. He and Helen had spent many nights here when she had returned to him. He hoped Barbara understood he was not performing some sort of ritual.

"It is good you have a friend Tommy, especially one with such a lovely, kind face." Maria turned to Barbara. "It was only after he was married that he brought Helen here. You, he brings before. So tragic but it was meant to be. Maybe better luck this time."

"You have a lovely restaurant," Barbara said effectively changing the subject and allowing Maria to tell the story of how she and Giuseppe had moved from Naples and started their restaurant.

"I'm so sorry," Tommy said genuinely once they were seated and Maria had left for the kitchen. He poured her a generous glass of chianti.

"No need." She took a larger swig than she intended then quickly drained her glass, ignoring his raised eyebrows.

They sat in painful silence for the next few minutes. Maria brought out steaming garlic bread and they each ate a slice without looking at the other. Any thoughts of something physical between them had vanished. "Good food," she muttered to cover the growing awkwardness.

"I should have thought it through. I just thought it was a somewhere you'd feel comfortable. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's nice."

"It wasn't somewhere special to us, it was just handy."

"It's fine Sir, really. Maria just assumed."

"You're my friend Barbara. I wouldn't deliberately hurt you." Their eyes met and she could not help but smile.

"Why did you say colleague and not friend? You did that at the service too." The question shocked her. She was going to have to have a serious word with her subconscious when she got home. It had played up all day.

"Did I?" Tommy paused and considered her question. "Yes, I suppose I did. It was because I thought friend might be misinterpreted as something tawdry. It seems to be a euphemism for many things these days and I did not want you belittled in anyone's eyes."

"Oh. I see. Thanks. I know what you mean."

"Besides," he said with a cheeky grin, "you kept calling me Sir. Friends normally don't do that."

"So to really be your friend I should call you Tommy?"

His smile at hearing his name said so casually by her lit up his face. "Yes, you should. You are my friend, a very special friend and it makes me happy. And friends like to make each other happy."

"That's bribery or coercion or something."

He grinned at her again. "So arrest me."

She enjoyed seeing this relaxed, playful side of him. It had been gone for so long she had wondered if it would ever return. "There's been so many times I've wished I could!"

"Oh me too Barbara! You'd have been in handcuffs so often you'd have..." He stopped realising that handcuffs had other purposes and she might misconstrue his meaning.

Barbara blushed. Until he stopped abruptly she had not thought about being handcuffed to his bed or to him. Now they both knew that was what they were both imagining. They were rescued by Maria's large bowl of pesto pasta.

Tommy tried to communicate only in grunts indicating his appreciativeness for the food. Barbara spoke only in smiles and nods. After they finished the pasta Maria brought out a dish of veal rolled in prosciutto and topped with a creamy tomato sauce sprinkled with pine nuts. Bowls of spinach salad and grilled zucchinis accompanied it. "This is lunch?" Barbara exclaimed.

"Maria has no concept of portion control. We won't need dinner."

Conversation was no longer stilted and they talked about work and the funeral as they ate and finished the chianti. Barbara was about to say how full she was when two bowls of rich tiramisu came from the kitchen. "We won't need breakfast either."

"Good because I would have to go shopping."

Tommy had said it so naturally that Barbara wondered if he meant that he had nothing for him to eat or for them to eat. She realised she had been as ambiguous. They were skating on a thin sheet of ice that was unfamiliar to them despite their years of banter; a sheet that threatened to crack at any moment.

"Oh, this is divine."

She tasted the dessert and agreed. "We should come here again."

"Indeed."

As they left the restaurant Barbara's feet began to throb against her tight shoes. She stooped and took them off and carried them in her hand as if walking barefoot in London on an autumn afternoon was what everyone did.

"Are your feet sore?"

"No I just thought my stockings needed to be rubbed and pulled by the concrete. Yes, my feet are sore. I will soak them when I get home. I'm not used to heels."

Tommy glanced down in amusement. Her heels were only marginally higher than his dress shoes. In comparison to her joggers though he imagined they felt like stilts. "I have some cream that might help," he said as they approached his house.

Barbara was not sure how he was going to approach inviting her in but this was a new line. She had assumed a nightcap - albeit a late afternoon-cap - might have been his choice. "Does it work?"

"Yes, it's hot and soothing if you rub it in well."

She could not help but smile and pondered if his words had been deliberate. "Okay."

Tommy poured drinks for them then left to fetch the cream from his bathroom. Barbara removed her stockings and shoved them into her bag. A devilish idea to remove her undies and put them in his cutlery drawer occurred to her but she dismissed it quickly. "Behave," she told her subconscious.

"I wasn't aware I was misbehaving." Yet...

Her face flushed red then purple before fading to white. "I was talking to myself...to my feet...yes, I was talking to my feet telling them to stop hurting."

He waved a tube of cream in the air. "I have the solution. Would you like me to rub it in for you?" Now Tommy blushed. He had not meant to verbalise his thoughts. He sounded like a lecher. "I'm sorry, that didn't sound right." He put the tube on the coffee table. "Another drink?"

"Yes please." Barbara was wishing it was the first question she was able to answer.

She accepted the drink then sat on the sofa, demurely crossing her legs as she had once been taught. How the hell do I rub this into my feet without the dress riding up?

"I should light a fire," Tommy said, "the nights close in quickly these days."

She sat watching him remove his coat and tie then arrange the wood. She could not help but think back to her fantasy. One wall behind him had shelves of neatly bound leather books. She imagined him reading a romantic poem that she would not understand.

When he finished with the fire he turned around and frowned. "You haven't rubbed the cream in."

"I can't reach my feet in this dress."

Tommy smiled so hard his face began to ache. "Would you let me do it?"

Barbara felt the colour rise up her neck and across her face. "You don't want to touch my smelly feet."

They were probably the most unromantic words she could have said but Tommy did not worry. He did want to touch her feet and a lot more of her. "I have soap," he said to brook any further objections. He sat on the floor and squeezed a generous glob of cream onto his palm.

She closed her eyes and surrendered to his touch.