Imogen

  ‘I love you,’ he said softly, ‘because you’re gentle and good, and because I know you love me.’

  He looked at his watch. ‘Christ. We’d better step on it, if we’re going to catch that plane.’

  Imogen grumbled and snuggled up to him, wanting to be kissed some more.

  ‘Come on,’ said Matt, pulling her to her feet. ‘It’s a great day for the Irish, but I can’t answer for my actions if we stay here necking much longer, and I can’t have you getting blasé.’

  As he drove back into the town, she sat, her fingers clutched over the Coca-Cola ring, half-stunned with wonder at what was happening.

  As he stopped the car outside the hotel, however, she looked at him with troubled eyes. ‘Matt, are you sure you’re over Cable?’

  ‘Darling,’ he said, flinging his arms out in a fair imitation of Al Jolson. ‘I’d run a million miles from one of her smiles. Come here, if you don’t believe me.’

  It was a few seconds before they realised Yvonne was tapping angrily on the window.

  ‘Matt! Matthew!’

  Matt turned round. ‘Yes?’

  Yvonne looked in horror, suddenly realising it was Imogen he was kissing. ‘What on earth’s she doing?’

  ‘Just getting into training.’

  Yvonne pursed her lips. ‘Where’s Cable?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure.’

  ‘Well, most of my wardrobe seems to be missing . . .’

  THE END