‘Look, I know it sounds silly. But he just seemed a bit shifty, a bit guilty, when he came out.’
Sam stretched her hand across the table reassuringly. ‘Ros, listen to yourself. I was expecting you to tell me that you’d spotted him necking with some blonde. He was probably lighting a candle or praying for luck for his expedition.’
‘Dominic isn’t at all religious,’ Ros said, though she knew Sam had a point.
‘He loves you. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. And if you think he’s being distant, I’m not convinced it’s because of an affair with Victoria Harbord.’
‘Then what is it?’
‘He’s off to the jungle. On his own,’ said Sam quietly. ‘There’s anacondas and angry pygmies. You know, pretty much everything out there can kill you.’
‘I’m not sure that’s helping me much, Sam,’ Ros said grimly
‘My point is that perhaps he’s deliberately distancing himself from you because he knows how dangerous it is. He’s trying to protect you in case he doesn’t come back.’
‘Oh Sam. That’s just what I’m scared of. I’m terrified of losing him.’
‘Then don’t give up.’
Ros scoffed. ‘Don’t you start. I followed Victoria’s advice and look where that got me. ‘
‘You’re Ros Bailey,’ said Sam firmly. ‘Everyone in the socialist movement respects you because you’re—’
‘A bitch?’
Sam shook her head.
‘Because you know what you want and you go out and get it. You’re a doer, a fighter, and we all follow you because you never say die.’
Rosamund looked down, slightly taken aback and a little embarrassed.
‘So why should Dominic be any different?’ Sam continued. ‘If you were running a campaign against the injustice of Dominic Blake ignoring his girlfriend, what would you do?’
‘Start a demonstration? Print up some posters?’
‘No, Ros,’ she said, wagging a finger. ‘That’s what other people would do; you would think of something clever. Lateral thinking, isn’t that what it’s called?’
Slowly, a smile crept over Rosamund’s face.
‘You’re right. In fact I have an idea that might just kill two birds with one stone.’
‘Then what are you waiting for, Ros Bailey? Go and get him.’
For a moment Rosamund wondered if she had walked into the wrong flat. She was tired and preoccupied and had barely paid attention to anything on the walk from the tube, so it was entirely possible. But no, it was definitely the right place; it was just that everything looked different. When she had left this morning, the narrow passageway from the front door had been crammed with boxes and equipment; now it was empty save the sideboard, which had a neat stack of envelopes and a vase of fresh flowers on it. Flowers?
The flat even smelt different: some sort of cooking coming from the kitchen. And was that singing?
‘Hello?’ she called, walking forward uncertainly, glancing into the bedroom, which, like the hallway, was uncluttered and tidy. What on earth?
The singing stopped and Dominic put his head around the door. ‘Hello,’ he smiled, stepping over, wiping his hands on a tea towel. He had a smear of something white on his right cheek and he was wearing an apron. He bent to kiss her on the lips.
‘Good timing,’ he said. ‘Dinner will be five minutes. I’ll just pour you a drink.’
Frowning, she peeked into the small living room.
‘Dom, where are all the boxes? What’s happened?’
‘I saw you trip over a hurricane lamp last night.’