Marion took delivery of the box from the agency on a Saturday afternoon. It was long and deep and made of solid wood. The boxes always reminded her of coffins, although of course they were nothing of the sort. They could be opened and closed at will. When she opened this one, she was pleasantly surprised as she helped Andrew out of it and shook hands with him. He handed her a thin dossier that contained information about himself, her specifications and details of the matching process.

They exchanged a few pleasantries, Marion showed him round the flat, reminded him briefly of his duties, and then offered him a seat opposite her in the sitting room. As she sat with the afternoon sun warming her back and gazed at Andrew, she felt pleased with herself. Very easy on the eye, she thought, no bad thing in the competitive world she occupied. She breathed in deeply, a clean, fresh, barely detectable fragrance of lime and pomegranate. She smiled at him. Getting the right match hadn’t been easy this time because there was such a demand. It wasn’t that there was a shortage of companions. There was a good supply because, sadly, there was always a number of young men who needed a new direction in life. Becoming companions could often save them. The demand was due to the increase in independent and successful businesswomen in the city. All the more reason to get it right, mused Marion. Her status, in both professional and social circles, was dependent not only on ...