“Do we really have time for this?” She asks turning her head towards him, the London sky no longer able to keep her attention. “We do have work to do.”

He lowers the bowl of custard from his face, and smiles. She thinks that the slightly manic look in his eyes is betraying the fact that he’s trying to get into character, the character today being a man in a ragged suit looking torn half into pieces, but with hope in his eyes. The eyes are always the hardest part for him.

“I’ll always have time to eat dinner with you, and besides. Our work isn’t going anywhere. It never does.”

When he leans across the table to kiss her, custard still caked on his lip, she only wonders why he couldn’t have chosen a more appetizing flavor.