“And why in the name of god and all that is holy did you tell him that?” Jacob looked up from what appeared to be half a bottle of red wine in a very large glass and simmered at me. “He’s got the cock of a horse, a mouth dirtier than a sewer, looks like a Greek god and you’ve told him you don’t even want anything casual. Are you mad?”

“Quite possibly,” I said, taking a mouthful of the red nectar. I’d seen the fear and worry on Max’s face on Tuesday and it had immediately raised all the concerns I’d tried to bury. “I might have made a mistake.”

“You think?” Jacob said, almost knocking over the bottle—that was probably almost empty anyway—with a sudden hand gesture. “Have you heard from him since?”

The wine tasted so good, especially after a day spent studying and finishing posting the lists for the seminars that started next week. “He’s texted a few times. Kind of similar stuff to before about his family and work, some stupid legal history facts.” I had been surprised, thinking he’d probably have distanced himself. He rarely had to come into the admin block at the university, most stuff being dealt with online and it was Jackson who was in touch about my grandfather’s will.

“And you haven’t sent him anymore photos?”

“Yes. Just not of me.” I’d messaged him a few pictures; a disaster of a dinner I’d cooked, my knee-high socks, the office at midnight with a strange shadow and my lunch from the café yesterday.

“I’m not sure what your problem is,” Jacob said, the wine magically disappearing. “He’s confessed to being married to his work so he’s not going to want anything long term or serious and you really could do with a good fuck. Can’t you think of it as therapy and maybe even offer to pay him?”

“I’m not sure he’d be totally cool with being a male escort.”

“I don’t mean on a contractual basis: just as a token gesture so that no feelings were involved. You don’t kiss or exchange gifts, that sort of thing,” Jacob said. “But you both get to scratch an itch, otherwise known as having mutual orgasms. It could be a no-lose situation.” He sprawled a bit further down one of his sofas.

Jacob’s apartment was luxurious and warm. Mainly white with the odd splash of pastel colours, it shouldn’t have suited him, given that he was, in his words, a show pony, but he was also the kindest person I knew. We were spending Saturday night in, drinking wine and polishing off a very large Chinese takeaway, both bemoaning our busy weeks and impending doom at the sword of work. The conversation had taken a turn towards sex, and then Maxwell.

“It’d be too complicated.”

He sat up. “That’s because you actually like him, don’t you?”

“No. He’s an ass. An egotistical, driven workaholic ass.”

“That was what you thought originally. Since then you’ve seen his dick. And had conversations. You like him,” Jacob said, looking triumphantly at me. “I think you should send him a picture of your underwear with it still on.”

“I don’t have time to like someone like that, and besides, I just want to focus on my doctorate and writing a few more articles. This opportunity at Johns Hopkins will be huge if it comes off and I want to make sure I’m in with the best chance of getting it,” I said, refocusing my eyes on the prize I’d set myself when I was a little girl, listening to stories from my grandfather about my great-grandparents and the war.

“You don’t have to work in America, you know. There will still be universities over here once you’ve finished your ridiculously long essay. I’d much prefer it if you stayed,” Jacob said, his expression now serious.

I knew he wanted me to stay, but I had to go where the best opportunity would be. My grandfather had talked about it at length and it had been his suggestion that I looked further afield if necessary, in order to do the best I could.

“And if the right position comes up, I’ll look at it. I promise you. Now, pour me some wine,” I held my glass out and he drained the rest of the bottle into it, the rich smell making my mouth water.

“I still think you’re mad,” he said.

I sipped the wine and silently agreed with him.

Autumn in London was a multi-faceted gem: some days the sun would still polish the pavements, shining on paths of gold for the tourists; other days the sky would be as grim as the Thames, the steps down to the tube slippery with the rain from wet feet. Monday was the latter; wet and dreary, making me dream of warmer climates with sunnier skies and maybe a beach where I could sit and drink cocktails, waited on by some charming man with a beard and tattoos.

If any money materialised from my grandfather’s legacy, after paying off various student loans and credit cards I had promised myself a holiday somewhere warm where I could luxuriate on a beach and disappear into a good book.

“Sorry,” a voice pulled me out of my fantasy where the waiter had taken on Max’s face and build. “I need to find out where to go.”

I sat up and tried to look awake. “Where are looking for?”

“I’m not sure. I missed the library induction and I could do with someone showing me how to log in and find the books I need.” He looked confused and uncertain, his hair unbrushed and overlong.

“I can show you how to log in to the library online,” I said. “You can then reserve what you need and collect that day. Are you a first-year student?”

He shook his head. “Second. I transferred from Cambridge.”

“Peter Coffey. I added your details to the student database a few days ago. I’m Victoria Davies; admin here and a history student.” I walked around my desk to a computer that we kept for the purpose of helping students either with logging into various accounts or printing the odd essay that just wouldn’t email or upload onto the system.

“Thanks for helping me,” he said awkwardly. I noticed that he was clenching his fists and figured that he was seriously nervous.

“You’re welcome. I know it’s difficult getting used to new systems. I’ve been there myself.” I started to help with his log in, showing him how to navigate onto the library database from the intranet. He said very little and made hardly any eye contact, something I’d been used to in my time at university, but not in the law department. Aspiring lawyers had to have a certain level of confidence, arrogance almost. “So if you click there, they should be reserved for you. I recommend that book also, as it’s on the reading list for Maxwell Callaghan’s module.”

He clicked it, the only acknowledgment that I’d spoken.

“It’s a good book, if you’re looking for something to help you sleep.” I looked across the desk and saw the man himself, glad I was sitting down as my legs suddenly didn’t feel strong enough.

Peter looked as if someone had just told him he was expected to perform on stage with no rehearsals and no plan.

“Hi, Maxwell,” I said, trying to lessen the awkwardness emanating from Peter. “There’s some post for you in your pigeon hole.” I breathed deeply, regulating and rationalising the array of feelings that were fluttering around my head and stomach. It was far easier to concentrate on Peter and practicalities than it was on the six feet two of sheer maleness that was dominating the office. “Peter, do you want me to show you how to use your student area? You can check that the information about your first year has been transferred correctly for a start and I can show you how to download the lecture notes or watch the video if it’s been uploaded.”

Peter looked at me, forced a smile and nodded, so I started to talk him through the various aspects of the virtual learning environment, wondering how similar it was to what he had been used to at Cambridge and also wondering why Max was standing behind us, watching everything from over our shoulders.

“I think that’s everything,” I said to Peter, when I had tried to bore Max into leaving the office by going through the most tedious and unnecessary shortcuts to upload documents. But he was still there; hands in pockets, smirk on his handsome face. “Is there anything else I can show you?”

Peter shook his head. “I think I’m good. Can I get you a coffee to say thank you?”

Max seemed to choke and then cough from behind us. I ignored him. “I have to catch up on some stuff here but thank you for the offer. I hope you enjoy the rest of Freshers’ Week.”

Peter gave that awkward smile, sent Max a strange look and scarpered out of the office, leaving me with my tormentor.

“Can I take you for a coffee?” he said. “Because I’m pretty sure you don’t have stuff to catch up on and you probably need something to drink after that tutorial. You realise he wasn’t concentrating on what you were trying to tell him?”

“He was just nervous. I suspect he doesn’t engage much with women,” I said, logging off the computer. I wanted to go for a coffee; I definitely needed a break and a change of scenery but sitting opposite Max for any length of time would be tantamount to the torture of my willpower.

Since Saturday, or really since Thursday, I had reconsidered my suggestion to him that we stayed platonic. If neither of us were interested in anything serious, if it could just be fun, then what was the harm in having a few dates, maybe the odd sleepover? Jacob had joked about me needing a new vibrator and he wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t actually convinced my lady parts would know what to do with a real penis, given how long it had been.

“Coffee,” he said, or rather demanded. He seemed taller today, wearing a blue suit that set off his dark hair and beard that looked neater today. “Let’s grab half an hour. I need to hear some tales of the law office or something to get my mind off a case.”

It was a strange request from a self-confessed workaholic and I rarely turned down any plea of help, no matter how well disguised. “Let me put the phones on lunch mode. Kate should be here in a minute anyway for the afternoon shift.” I technically wasn’t full time at the law department office, but this time of year when students were enrolling and lectures and seminars were being arranged was always busy. The overtime would come in handy, should Jackson Callaghan’s genius not be enough to wrangle my grandfather’s inheritance from my brother.

“My friend has a café come speakeasy a few streets away. Let’s go there. Her soup will be as good as your place.” He looked at me oddly, as if I was wearing a tin foil blanket at the end of a marathon.

“Sure. I’ll let you pay,” I said, grabbing my leather jacket as today was not a day when the sun was baking the tourists with September smiles.

He led me to a bijou looking place that was almost full. Golden Age reproductions hung from the walls and there was a large row of cakes on the counter that were far more interesting than soup.

“I recommend everything,” he said. “The cakes are home-made. The coffee’s all Fairtrade.”

“Hey, sugar.” An elfin blonde appeared, her smile broader than the Thames. “You’ve brought a friend. Good to know I’m still good enough to recommend.”

“Amy,” he said, sitting down at a now empty table. “How are things?”

“Good,” she said. “But you knew that. You didn’t need to sort everything for me, Maxwell. You’ve already done enough.”

“It’s only what you would’ve done for me,” Max said, removing his suit jacket. “This is Victoria. Vic, this is Amelie, one of my oldest childhood friends.”

“Notice how he says oldest meaning ‘not young’. I’ll add rat poison to your coffee for that. What can I get you lovely people? It’s great to meet you, by the way, Victoria. It’s not often Max brings anybody here apart from his work.”

I caught his eye and kicked his shin under the table. He shrugged.

“I’ll have the soup and a flat white coffee. Plus, a piece of the red velvet cake I noticed. A large piece.”

“Sure, sugar,” she said. “Maxwell?”

“Soup, coffee, sandwich,” he said. “The usual.”

She beamed at him. “I get to experiment. Super. Be a few minutes but I’ll send Del over with your coffees as soon as I can.” She touched him on the shoulder, her hand lingering as she gently squeezed, and I averted my eyes, not wanting to see his response.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he said as Amelie scooted into the kitchen. “I really did need to get away from work and I wasn’t sure how else to do it.”

“Thanks for treating me, even if you didn’t offer and I demanded it instead.” I wanted to keep the tone light and try to take his mind off whatever was bothering him.

He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the sides and something in my chest boomed a little wider for a moment. “I don’t ever mind treating a friend,” he said, and I swore his eyes dropped momentarily to my chest.

“How do you know Amelie?” I asked as Del brought over our coffees.

“I’ve known her for as long as I can remember. She grew up in the house next to ours and me and my brothers and sister would play with her and her brothers all summer long. We’ve always kept in touch since she moved out,” he said, his hand gripping the mug.

“I thought you had more than one sister,” I said. My hair had a mind of its own today and I found myself messing with it more, something that looked like a nervous habit.

He laughed. “I have two half-sisters, Payton and Ava. Payton is Seph’s twin, Ava’s the afterthought. There’s seven years between me and the twins and nine between me and Ava, so they were too young to play with Amelie and her brothers. We got stuck with baby-sitting duty though. Some days it still feels like that with Seph,” he said with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

“I don’t believe that. You seem to be very fond of each other. I don’t have that relationship with my half-brother so you’re lucky,” I said. “When you don’t get along and there’s resentment it’s very difficult.”

He eyed me curiously. “Why don’t you get along?”

I shrugged. “His mum died when he was eight. His dad then married my mum a couple of years later and they had me. I don’t think Francis was very keen on the whole idea of a stepmum and a half-sister to share the attention and he resented me from the start. My parents died when I was seventeen. I moved in with my dad’s dad—something else Francis wasn’t happy with, as he was after Grandad to downsize and with me there, he wouldn’t. It was definitely about the money at that point and that’s how it still is.”

“Jackson mentioned he’d had correspondence from his solicitors earlier. There’s no other will. They wanted to go to probate, but Jackson has asked on what terms. He thinks they’ll retract their claim soon and the money will be released,” Max said.

My heart doubly thumped now.

“I’ll expect another phone call from Francis then.”

“He’s been in touch?” Max looked concerned, a bit like a guard dog when it hears a noise.

“He’s rang five times but I haven’t answered and my voicemail is switched off as I knew he’d leave me some ranting, insulting messages that I wouldn’t listen to anyway. At some point he’ll come to find me to have ‘words’,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. My brother had only ever taken one stance with me: that he was older and therefore wiser. His advice was usually just to benefit him though; any grief or sadness he caused was simply an additional perk.

“Are you worried about it?” Max said after a pause, during which I figured he was probably giving thought as to what to say.

“No,” I said. “He just gets cross with me and tells me what I must do. He’s no threat although this is really going to piss him off. Once it’s settle though, there’s no reason for us to have any more contact. Not that we ever had much beyond his ‘advice’.”

“What family do you have then?”

It was my turn to laugh. “I don’t. My mum wasn’t close to her family, so I wouldn’t know them if I sat next to them on the tube. My dad was an only child. I’m close to my tutor from my masters, Lance Reyes. He’s at Johns Hopkins now but we’re close.”

“Were you in a relationship with him?” The question was quick and almost choked him.

“No. Lance actually had a fling with my friend Jacob. I’m not his type. Part of the reason he took the job in the States was because that’s where his now partner lives. I’ve got Jacob and a couple of other very close friends. I got lucky in some ways: I got to choose my family.” I had to look at it like that; I didn’t have the fall back of sisters and brothers, so I’d become adept at making good friends and sustaining those relationships.

“You almost make me glad I’ve got my siblings,” he said. “And that none of them are like your half-brother. My dad struggled with us four eldest from when we were born. After my mum died he was pretty much clueless and just worked even harder than before. I suppose he stuck to what he was good at.”

“What was it like after your stepmum joined you?”

“I found it hard at first. It wasn’t my mum and I missed her, but Marie was different and she made us—me especially—into children again, as we didn’t have to worry about Callum anymore. He was just a baby when our mum died. But Marie didn’t try to replace her: she was just Marie. A lot crazy, very American, very sweary and very stubborn. She stood up to my dad something amazing and made him be a father, even though he was terrified,” Max said, the expression on his face crossing between sadness and sheer appreciation.

“Marie sounds amazing. I’m not sure there are many people who could take on four kids, especially ones so young.”

“I know. I think I thought at first that she wouldn’t stay, so I was horrible to her. I didn’t speak to her for weeks because I figured that she wouldn’t handle us.” He eyed me, as if assessing a temperamental horse. “How did you lose your parents?”

“Car crash,” I said. “Wet road. They were likely going too fast as my dad was a bit of petrol head in all honesty. No one else was involved. They’d spent a lot of time working abroad as research scientists, so I wasn’t especially close to them. That didn’t mean I wasn’t upset or sad, and I still miss them, but they were often away for big occasions like birthdays and Christmas, so I was never used to having a big family like yours.”

“I’m sorry that you don’t have them though,” he said. “Or your grandfather.”

I nodded. “He was a huge loss but he was very poorly. I miss him and I’m sad he’s not here, but he was in so much pain at the end it couldn’t have continued.” His eyes asked me what the matter was. “It was a brain tumour. We had a year from diagnosis until the end and we spent it together, travelling to various historical sites and visiting Ypres and the Somme, until he became too ill to travel. What about your mother?”

Amelie arrived with our food and had a large grin for both of us. “Soup and a Mediterranean panini for you.” She popped a plate in front of Max. “And soup and cake for the lady my teenage customers keep staring at. Please don’t scare them off as they keep ordering more food so they can stay and look. In fact, sugar, I’ll need a life-size cut out of you before you leave.”

Max turned around and glared at the group of boys who looked about seventeen or eighteen, not quite college age. “Haven’t they learnt manners?” he said, his eyes darkening.

“Like I said, don’t scare them off. Enjoy your lunch and don’t rush to give me the table back,” she said, smiling at the boys before going on to the next customer.

“They’re not doing any harm,” I said, catching the eye of one of the boys, who went extremely red and looked at his phone.

“I’m not sure about that,” Max said, stirring the soup. “I don’t trust them.”

“You don’t need to. It’s daylight, we’re in a busy area and I’m with you who looks like a professional boxer, just a bit taller and without a squashed nose. Besides, I think I could handle most of them,” I said, gently kicking his leg under the table. I wouldn’t quite call it playing footsie, but it was definitely physical contact. Later I’d have words with myself about wanting physical contact as it should be completely off my agenda.

“My mum committed suicide,” he said, almost suddenly. “She had postnatal depression and was being treated for it. It got worse after Callum was born but my dad didn’t notice as he was working so much.”

“Do you blame your father?” I knew my filters should have been on, but my gut told me direct, honest questions were appreciated by the brooding, great man in front of me.

He shook his head. “Not now. It’s more complex than assigning blame. But it’s part of the reason I specialised in medical negligence—mental health in particular.”

“And it’s why you advise on law making too. And write articles.” He made sense.

“Yes. I know none of us four are to blame, although with hindsight, you look back and think ‘what if’. It’s taken a long time though.”

“I think it takes forever,” I said, pinching his sandwich to take a bite.

“Do you want your own?” he said, taking it back as soon as my mouth was full.

I shook my head, chewing madly.

“You just want mine?”

I shrugged. “Other people’s food tastes better. I’ll share my cake.” I said, smiling hopefully.

“After. I’ll sample it.”

And I wanted to be sampling him again. Regret was firmly sitting in my loin area that I’d stopped what was happening between us before I’d had him inside me. But the more I got to know him, the more I liked him. The more I saw him and talked to him, the more I was attracted.

“I’m guessing that’s what your new case is about—postnatal depression.”

Max nodded. “Yes.”

“You want the latest office gossip?”

“Yes. If you tell me the latest chapter in the chronicles of Carol, I’ll let you have another bite of my panini.”

“That sounds rude.”

“Good.”