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again—apparently a mathematician is to be viewed with even more respect than a gifted violinist. “The two sets of skills are often found together,” I hasten to explain, somehow wanting to reassure him that I’m not that special, not that odd. Not really. “Then I moved to University College London, did an MSc in Mathematics and Modern Languages. I was awarded that in 2008, when I was eighteen.”
    “So, a musician, a mathematician and a linguist. There really is no end to your remarkable talents, Miss Byrne. Sorry, Dr Byrne.”
    Sarcasm? But he is smiling. His eyes are smiling. He really doesn’t mind. “So, what did you do from 2008 to now?”
    “I went back to King’s, this time into the Faculty of Modern Languages. I got a research fellowship, and did my PhD in Linguistics. Then in 2010 I was offered a research fellowship at Oxford, St Hilda’s College, and that’s where I was until a few weeks ago.”
    “So, Dr Byrne, it sounds as though you’ve had a glittering academic career. Why did you leave?”
    Ah, the six million dollar question. The one I still struggle to answer. But I’ll try. For Nathan, I’ll try.
    “I wanted more in my life than just academic institutions. I’ve never been anywhere else, done anything else except learn, study, research and occasionally teach. I like to teach, but I don’t get to do it that often…”
    My voice trails away. The next bit is the hard part. This is where I become vulnerable again, my emotions and needs laid bare. I reflect on the irony—I’ve already laid my body bare before Nathan, and on balance he’s looked after it pretty well. Apart from that one mishap, for which I do accept some measure of responsibility. But emotional fulfilment is a whole new ball game. Men are not good at emotional stuff, at the touchy feely stuff—or so I understand. But hey, who am I to talk?
    “I… Growing up I got the education I needed, eventually. Some of it. Most of it. Intellectually I matured, and I am now a respected academic in my field.” Well, several fields really.
    “Physically too. I may not have much in the way of curves and sex appeal, but I am a normal woman, everything works fine. Even my libido, as I now know.”
    “How fortunate for us both, Dr Byrne.” His smile gives away the humour behind the wry statement, encouraging me to go on.
    “But emotionally, I’m a bit of a car wreck.” Leaving that hanging in the air, I stop, take a sip of my coffee to give me a moment to work out what to say, how to explain my particular pile of mangled wreckage. The liquid hitting my stomach reminds me that, apart from a croissant at breakfast—which he rudely interrupted to spank me—I haven’t eaten all day. My stomach growls loudly, taking both of us by surprise.
    “Sorry,” I mutter, pressing my free hand to my grumbling tummy in the hope that it will just keep quiet long enough to not disgrace me further.
    Laughing, he takes my coffee cup and puts it on his desk. “I want to know all about your car wreck, Eva. I suspect that’s the heavy stuff and we will deal with it. But first we need to feed you. And have some fun, I think. Some light relief. Do you fancy a night out? Or rather—will you come out with me tonight, Eva?”
    Incredulous, I gape at him. “Are you asking me out? For a date?”
    “A date? Yes, could be. Will you come out on a date with me tonight, Eva?”
    “No one’s ever asked me to go on a date before. I’m not sure…”
    “I’m beginning to realise how sorely lacking your otherwise brilliant education has been in some important respects, Miss Byrne. Sorry, Dr Byrne. There are some gaps. Some very worrying gaps. Gaps we need to fill. And dating is one of those gaps. I agree that in an ideal world the dating would come before the fucking, but hell, you’ve got to start somewhere. So, Dr Byrne, will you come out with me tonight? Please.”
    Laughing, I begin to get into the spirit of it. “Yes, Mr Darke. I’d love to. Where