Doing everything with his left hand was starting to annoy Tommy. He struggled to unlock his front door while Barbara waved her free right hand at him. "I can help you," she said, "wasn't it you who said we had to work together?"

"Got it." He pushed the heavy front door open and let her step inside. He kicked the door shut and slipped off his shoes then waited while Barbara stood on the back of her trainers to pull them from her feet. He smiled as she tried to push her sock over to hide the hole her toenail had created. "Sorry, I'll be less independent next time."

"Yeah, I doubt that. Are we going to stand in your hall all night?"

"No, of course not. Right, dinner first." He started to move towards his kitchen. Barbara had insisted Winston stop and buy them Indian takeaway. At least it would be easier to eat than something needing both hands. "And I have plenty of beer in the fridge for you."

"One, two, three," she said making a game of working together to lift the bags of takeaway onto his kitchen bench. "Plates?"

"Pantry, middle shelf."

"Cutlery?"

"Top drawer, beside the dishwasher. There shouldn't be any underwear in there today. Do you want a glass for your beer?"

"Very humorous. Bottled or canned?"

"Bottled. Lager or ale?"

"Ale. No glass."

Tommy smiled as he watched her fossicking in his cupboards. Walking together was now effortless. Holding hands had become automatic for them, and they moved in synch around his kitchen. One simple act had altered their behaviours since the excruciating awkwardness of the 'bathroom incident' as he now thought of it. To his surprise, Barbara had re-taken his hand when they had been sitting in the car. Tommy knew he had been sulking. The ignominy of the bathroom incident and the impending difficulty of spending the night together piled on top of her rejection had sent him spiralling into one of his darker moods. Barbara had swept it away when she rubbed her thumb against his palm then took his hand. He had looked across to see her smiling softly, her eyes full of understanding. It was then that the words first formed in his mind. Three simple words that would change his world if he uttered them. Three little words that held his future. Three powerful words that freed him.

Wanting to kiss Barbara had shocked him. Wanting to tell her he loved her did not surprise him nearly as much; somehow he had always known but once said, those words could never be retracted. He had to mean them, and he had to mean them forever. That scared him, not because they were not genuine but because they were real - wonderfully, maddeningly, enticingly real. It would be an ungainly, difficult, even frustrating love but with Barbara, it would be enduring. He had leant across the car to tell her when Winston had again interrupted him by asking what they wanted for dinner. Now, as Tommy held the boxes steady while Barbara peeled off the lids, he wondered if he should just tell her how he felt.

"I'm starving," she said, "these smell great." He had his answer; he would wait.

Barbara tucked in as if she had not eaten for days. It was only when she reached for some roti that she noticed he was struggling. "Can you manage?"

For the third time, a piece of curried chicken evaded capture. "Might be easier for me with a spoon."

Without thinking, Barbara stabbed the errant chicken with her fork then held it to his mouth. Tommy grinned and closed his lips over the meat. Colour rushed to fill her cheeks, but she had to bluff it out, pretend it was normal. So she picked up another piece, with some rice and ate it herself. Tommy put down his utensils and picked up some roti. He took a bite then offered some to her. She was tempted to pass him a spoon, but his soft brown eyes mesmerised her. She gathered some rice and meat and fed him another bite then pulled a strand of roti free with her teeth.

They often stole food from the other's plate, mostly chips, but sharing their meal was something Barbara found intimate and almost sensual. Their heads had moved close together, and it was easy to forget that they were still holding hands. That had become routine so quickly that she could not imagine ever sitting or walking with him again and not taking his hand. "I enjoyed that," she told him as they ate the last of the curry gravy. Far more than you'll ever know!

"Me too."

Neither of them had moved. "Sir..."

"Tommy. I think, given the circumstances, you should call me Tommy."

"I... don't think I can."

"Try. Just relax and try. We're friends aren't we?"

"Yes."

"Then try, please. Do you want to watch TV?" Tommy had no interest in television, but if she could not bring herself to call him by name after the way they had shared their meal, then he would feel he was taking advantage of her if he kissed her. He would never force a woman, physically or psychologically.

"Nah." Barbara had thought for one fleeting moment that he was about to kiss her. She berated herself for wanting that and being tricked by the drugs into thinking it was possible. Tommy was not the type of man to take advantage of the situation, nor was he the type to kiss her. "It's nearly midnight, and I'm tired. We probably won't get much sleep like this but..."

"You'd like to go to bed."

Barbara could feel her face light up like a flare. "Maybe you could sleep on the couch, and I could lie on the floor?"

"Barbara, that makes no sense when there's a perfectly good bed upstairs."

Barbara took a deep breath. "It's just that...I feel...awkward about sleeping in your bed...with you."

"What if we stay in the guest suite? Neutral territory?"

She nodded. "Yeah, okay. I'm sorry, but it wouldn't feel right to be in...your room."

Many reasons ran through his mind, and he could understand most of them. "I know, Barbara. We can't have showers or even take our clothes off so we can just sleep under a blanket in the spare room and pretend we're on a stakeout of something."

"I forgot about the shower. I must stink."

Tommy bent down and leant his cheek on her head. "No, you smell nice, like a warm puppy."

"A warm puppy? Can this day get any weirder?"

Tommy laughed. "Don't tempt fate."

After discarding the takeaway boxes, they moved upstairs. After the first bathroom incident, they were both less fussy about touching each other as they toileted before bed. Tommy gave his guest a fresh toothbrush. "At least we can clean our teeth."

Barbara brushed hers quickly and vigorously, but Tommy struggled to do it with his left hand. When he jabbed the brush into his gum, he yelped. "Use your right hand," Barbara said, "mine will tag along for the ride.

"Thanks." He leant down low over the sink and brushed forcefully. It was far harder than he had imagined.

"Thank you."

"She looked at him and frowned. "For what?"

"Riding with this. It can't be easy for you."

"We have no choice, Sir. You heard Stuart's only other suggestion. And it'd be my hand he'd have to cut off."

"No! It should be mine."

"Why? Because you're the gallant knight. It's my non-dominant hand trapped and your dominant one. If it comes to that, mine's the one that has to go."

"It won't, but it should be mine. There's no career for one-handed police officers, but a one-armed Earl has plenty of opportunities."

"No. I'd get a pension. I'd be fine."

"It won't come to that, but I'd look after you. You know that don't you?"

"What's the going rate for a hand?"

"Don't! This not about money Barbara. I'm serious, though; if anything ever happens to you, I will look after you."

Barbara smiled and nodded. "I know. Tomorrow we'll look back on this and laugh. We should get some sleep."

Between them, they spread the blanket over the bed. "How do we get in?" she asked.

Tommy surveyed the bed. "Hmm, obviously not from opposite sides. You get in here then wriggle over, and I'll get in next to you."

It took a few minutes, but they finally managed to align their bodies roughly parallel to the edges with their hands lying between them as they lay on their backs staring at the ceiling. "You forgot the light, Sir."

Amidst fits of laughter, the extricated themselves, and Tommy extinguished the light. He grabbed the television remote and switched it on so they could see. They repeated the process and finally settled into the bed. The earlier unexpected ease of feeding each other disappeared behind stiff formality as they both sat rigidly propped against their pillows, staring at the television mounted on the wall. Tommy flicked through the channels until he found the news. "And today in St James' Park a circus tent collapsed. No one was injured, but The Met is believed to be investigating the disappearance of Zorko the Magnificent, the circus's magician, who is wanted in connection with a series of daring diamond heists, here and in Antwerp. If anyone sees this man, please phone Crimestoppers on..."

"At least we didn't make the news," Barbara said with relief. "Imagine the headlines. 'Lord locked to serf'."

Tommy muted the television as he turned angrily towards her. "You are not my serf!" he snapped much louder than was necessary.

"Sorry," she said looking down at the blanket, "it was a joke."

Tommy squeezed her hand. "No, I'm sorry Barbara, but I get so tired of this class issue you put up between us. None of that matters to me. I only care about how people treat me not where they were born or how big their bank account is. You confuse me. I'm your closest friend and yet you keep these barriers up between us. You treat me with affection, but you won't say my name. What are you scared of Barbara?"

"Nothing." There was a long pause. "Everything."