Closed off by double doors, the dining room was tucked between the front reception room and the kitchen. When Tommy opened them, the room was more substantial than Barbara had imagined. In all their years working together, it was not a room she had ever entered. She had only ever been in his kitchen with its attached family room and his study. Dimly lit by lamps on each wall, grim shadows fell across the dark-stained dados. It was depressing. Even the sombre navy and cream wallpaper seemed antique and faded. A long polished oak table, with a dozen matching chairs upholstered with cream and maroon striped damask, ran the length of the room. She shuddered. If ever an area needed a makeover, this was it.

Scenes from television shows with arrogant aristocrats sitting at each end attended by long-suffering butlers ran through her mind. "Can't we eat in the kitchen or somewhere less...?"

"Less what?"

"Spooky... umm, spacious. It's not very cosy. I'll have to shout for you to hear me."

"Hardly. It's not my favourite room. Hasn't changed much since my grandmother's day."

"Been dead a while has she?"

Tommy nodded, oblivious to her meaning. "About 35 years. I was only very young."

He led her to the centre where he had set two places opposite each other. Putting each bowl on thick placemats, he then pulled out a chair. She sat and allowed him to flick open her napkin and rest it over her lap. His hand seemed to linger just above her thigh, and Barbara felt her neck beginning to heat.

"You don't have to wait on me, Sir."

"I'm just a good host."

He walked back to the door and paused. The lights faded to a low glow. In other circumstances, this could be romantic. Barbara bit her lip as she watched Tommy open a cupboard in the sideboard. She could not see what he was doing until he put a set of low, fat candles on the table between them. Barbara froze as he smiled and lit them. At least they were not the tall candles on a silver candelabra that seemed to feature in the love song video clips she watched on the Sounds of Love each Tuesday night.

"Candlelight is always more personal."

Barbara clasped her hands in front of her, unsure where to put them, or where to look. Too bloody personal. "I just thought people used it so they couldn't see what they are eating." She sounded ruder than she had meant. She saw his face fall. His soft smile faded utterly, so she laughed, trying to make it sound like a joke. "But this is nice. Thank you, Sir."

He looked up. "Really? You don't think...?"

She shook her head. "Nah, thank you. Quarantine by candlelight. It's a better way to think of it than being locked away."

"It is. I hope you like the risotto."

"I'm sure I will."

Tommy watched her reactions studiously. He had aimed for a hint of romance on a base of respect. He hoped by inviting her into parts of the house she had never been, that she would be more comfortable with everything. Now he fretted that he was rushing things. They had three weeks together, whether they liked it or not, and if he offended her, it would be a thoroughly miserable experience. He felt, deep down in a place logic defied, that Barbara shared his feelings, but he knew dynamiting them to the surface would never work. He smiled. He had to romance her.

"What are you grinning at? Have I got rice on my nose?"

"No, I was just thinking about how good it is to have you here."

"Yeah, being exposed to the Wasting Virus, worrying if we will catch it and die while we are couped up in this old place for three weeks is terrific."

"Barbara. Firstly, we are unlikely to catch it, and if we do, we are highly unlikely to die. Yes, the house is old, but we could use the time to do it up a bit if you like. I have new wallpaper stored in the lower room that I have meant to hang in here for years, but it's not an easy job alone, so I have put it off."

"You want me to help you?"

"Only if you want to do something other than watching TV or reading to pass the time."

She cocked her head, exposing her neck above her collar. The skin was smooth and creamy, and Tommy closed his eyes and counted to three. For a decade he had controlled his latent desires for Barbara, suppressing them beneath a myriad of excuses and rationalisations. Now, in less than three hours, his ability to justify not becoming lovers had deserted him. How can I resist her? Those eyes, that sly smile. Oh, hell.

"Yeah, why not."

He was forced to refocus. "Sorry?"

Barbara frowned. "I agreed, but you can donate an old t-shirt if you expect me to glue or paint."

He grinned at her and noticed the colour rising up her neck. Was she thinking what he was? "I can do that. It will swim on you, but I could always tie you up with string. It... I could always tie the t-shirt up with string."

She looked up and raised her eyebrows. "I don't do ladders. And I won't catch you if you fall."

"Ye of little faith. I won't fall."

She twisted her fork in the air. "I've said that for the last ten years."

Tommy paused. Some risotto fell from his fork. "And?"

"It never really works."

This was too soon, and he did not believe she was flirting with him. She meant it, about the ladder. That was all. "Fallen off a lot of ladders have you?"

A shadow that could be mistaken for sadness passed over her eyes. "A few. We should have bought dessert."

"How does ice cream sound?"

The smile returned to her eyes. "Perfect, but can we watch it in front of the TV or something. This room is giving me the creeps."

Tommy laughed. "Well, we will start making it less spine-chilling in the morning. You go ahead to the kitchen and raid my freezer. Leave the Honey Macadamia for me though please. I'll put the candles away and follow."

Barbara found a chocolate fudge brownie ice cream in behind a wall of Honey Macadamia tubs. Her ice cream was usually bought in 2L containers, not these dainty 500 mL tubs. "You'd have to eat two just to get enough," she muttered as she tried to wriggle it free without disturbing his careful stacks.

"You can, if you want two."

"Oh, Sir, sorry." Her face instantly turned beetroot.

"Tommy."

"Huh?"

"Tommy. We can't live together for three weeks and have you call me Sir."

"Why not?"

"Because... it wouldn't seem right."

He moved closer, almost pinning her against the open freezer. cold air tickled her spine adding to her awkward misery. "We are friends and housemates. We won't be arresting anyone or chasing criminals. I am not your boss inside this house, Barbara."

She tried to push the ice cream between them. "Yes, you are director of wallpapering and I'm just a labourer."

Tommy laughed and stepped away. "How many wallpaperers call their boss Sir?"

She shrugged. "This one."

"You'll change your mind, Ms Havers. Of that I am certain. Now, where's my ice cream?"