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“It’s actually lovely,” said Hannah. “I don’t think I’ve ever gone to the pub alone before, and then been invited to have a drink with people I’ve barely met.” The fingers of one hand played up and down her beer glass.

Lottie was surprised by her candour, and couldn’t help admiring Hannah’s long ringed fingers. All the better for typing stories with, she supposed. She tried not to think of other uses for them. That wouldn’t do at all.

“About what you said, about glamorous jobs,” said Hannah, suddenly sitting up.

“What I said?” Lottie frowned.

“You said that there were more glamorous jobs than unblocking toilets and all that,” said Hannah, fixing Lottie with a piercing stare. Was this what politicians had to endure when they were interviewed by her?

“I think it’s a fair cop,” laughed Lottie, nervously.

“I don’t think you should put yourself down like that.” Hannah picked up her glass and took a mouthful, continuing to stare at Lottie as she drank.

Lottie felt as though Hannah was looking right through her. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. There was no question, no suggestion, just a statement. She felt oddly admonished and vulnerable.

“Er…” Lottie wasn’t sure how to respond. “I guess it’s just something I say.”

“But it’s not really how you see yourself, is it?” Hannah put her glass back on the table, her focus on Lottie unwavering.

Lottie took a deep breath. This had taken an unexpected turn. “I mean, well, not all the time.” She pursed her lips. “But yes, sometimes.”

Hannah frowned at her. “Well, you’re wrong.” She sighed. “And I suspect if you asked your children or any of your colleagues here, they’d tell you you’re wrong, too.”

“Is this how you felled Saxon, with that piercing stare and unpalatable truths?” Lottie was desperate to change the subject.

“Ha!” Hannah exclaimed. “Perhaps that, and a shed load of evidence.”

“I remember watching that interview. He genuinely had no clue how far up to his neck he was until halfway through, did he?” Lottie took a sip of her beer.

“Not a clue,” said Hannah, licking her lips as though reliving the memory. She gave a wolfish grin. “Honestly, it was amazing. Better than sex.”

Lottie’s eyebrows hit her hair line. “Better than sex?” She grinned. “That’s quite a claim, Hannah Castle.” Was she flirting? Oh God, she needed to not be flirting with the nation’s best known broadcast journalist.

With the nation’s best known broadcast journalist, who happened to be straight.

Hannah laughed. “I think there are a fair number of things that are better than sex, if I’m honest.”

Lottie couldn’t resist the next line that fell from her lips as they curled. “Then you’re clearly doing it wrong.”

Chapter Nineteen

HANNAH

Hannah stopped, and replayed what Lottie had just said. She tried to organise her features into a neutral expression, aware that she was probably failing. And then she gave up, drained her glass, and laughed.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said. “Perhaps I have been doing it wrong.” There was something freeing in that moment of letting go. Of not trying to keep hold of herself and schooling her reactions.

Lottie laughed, too. “I totally shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about you, really.”

“No,” said Hannah. “It’s fine.” And it really was, for once. “So tell me, who’s keeping your life interesting and passionate? You seem to have a sparkle in your eye. You say you’re too busy, but my sense is that there is something going on with you.”

“Really?” Lottie appeared surprised by Hannah’s assertion. “No, nothing I’m afraid. But, you know, maybe now the kids are older.”

“Wasn’t that waitress trying to set you up?” Hannah pushed.

Lottie shook her head. “I’ve met her aunt. She’s not my type, to be honest.”

“Ooh, OK, what is your type?” Hannah was warming to her theme, keen to know more. She felt slightly giddy. Perhaps it was the beer.