Still holding onto his wrist, River turns slowly and comes face to face with her pickpocket. He’s older than she’d expected – fluffy gray curls peeking out from beneath a battered top hat. Tall and thin, he wears a shabby black coat and leans heavily on a walking stick. He’s staring right at her but his eyes are oddly blank and she realizes with a jolt that he’s blind.

“Well no wonder I caught you,” she mutters, watching him frown in her direction. “You can’t even see what you’re doing.”

The only thing more humiliating than being stood up is being stood up in a restaurant where everyone can clearly see he’s been sitting at a table for two all night without any company.

He turns to signal the waiter and pay for his tea but before he can lift his hand, the chair across from him is pulled back and a whirlwind with hair sinks into it. “Sorry I’m late, darling,” she says, a touch too loudly as she drops her handbag onto the table and beams at him. “Traffic was hell.”