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Let’s just say that my first date with Baron Alban did not go quite as I was hoping.
Expectations: me in a very good dress. High heels, great up-do, a bit of lipstick (or perhaps a lot). The Baron looking gorgeous as always in one of his many fine suits, escorting me upon one muscular arm to somewhere lovely. Somewhere with music, perhaps, and good cake.
Reality: Somewhat different.
It began with a phone call.
‘Morning, Ves,’ came the Baron’s deep voice when I picked up. ‘Do I disturb?’
‘Not at all!’ said I brightly, and not altogether truthfully. It was, I had blearily noted as I scooped up my phone, all of half past six in the morning; it was Sunday, and I’d had no intention of getting up for at least three hours yet. I was in bed with my duvet around my chin, and the UniPup, all
