THE REST OF THE DAY had passed in a similarly depressing mode. But it ended at last. Much to Rafferty’s delight, Abra had been as good as her word, and had moved her clothes and other paraphernalia back into the flat.
The place had a wholly different aura when he got home that night. She’d even cooked, and a delicious smell of chicken casserole wafted towards him as he walked down the hall. He glanced in the living room to see she’d taken a romantic leaf out of Mo’s book for the table looked fit for a king. The best wine glasses, candles and their linen napkins sat decorating the table-top. A small pink vase of early roses was placed in the centre.
‘The place looks beautiful, sweetheart,’ Rafferty told her. ‘And that casserole smells good enough for God to eat. Have you done all this sin
