"Used as an excuse for anything."

"Exactly. Shopping, exercise — any selfish activity people want to do to please themselves for hours on end."

“So you wouldn't apply it to your art?"

"I wouldn't, actually. I was thinking about it earlier. Painting is what keeps me grounded. In control. Even though, paradoxically, I'm out of control when I'm doing it. Exposed and completely at its mercy, if you see what I mean. It nevertheless roots me. I can't really explain."

"You're doing very well. And I wouldn't begin to compare my joyless, beach-combing activities with anything truly creative, but losing myself in it comes close to what you describe. I do become consumed."

I remembered his concentration when I'd first seen him, wading and gazing forensically into the shallows, container in hand.

"Which is healthy, I feel."

"Quite."

We were silent a moment. A light breeze ruffled our hair.

"I feel we got off on the wrong foot, when we first met," I said abruptly. “Sorry about that."

“My fault too. Seem to remember I had a go at you about something. Ah yes, the riding."

"Well, you're your ‘Own Person’,” I said ironically. “That's pretty much a license to kill."

He smiled down at his knees. Nodded. “Truce?"

“Truce."

“Drink?"

I blinked. “Sorry?"

"Well, not now I'm going to bed. But tomorrow maybe? In the Mariners?"

"Oh." I thought for a moment. "Well. Yes. All right. Why not?"

“Don't panic, Flora, it's a drink in the Mariners. Not a hot date. I'm usually there with some of my students at about seven. They like to ponce a drink off me. Babs is often there, too."

"I might bring Celia along," I said, remembering suddenly.

He nodded. "I'll see you then."

He got down off the rock and dusted his hands. Then, without looking back or saying goodnight, he walked away. A tall, solitary figure, roaming steadily back down the beach. He had a certain presence, I'll give him that. I watched until he was around the corner of the bay and out of sight.

Chapter 14

The following day, however, a more pressing appointment was first on the agenda; one at lunchtime, in Truro. The restaurant was crowded and much bigger than I'd imagined. I'd had trouble finding it because I'd nonchalantly assumed I knew everywhere there was to go in this city, only to find that the whole place had changed beyond recognition behind my back. It had always bustled and thronged with people, but in my day they were shuffling in and out of McDonald's and not sprawling indolently in cutting-edge fashion all over the Cathedral square which appeared to have got itself up like an Italian piazza. In the surrounding streets, café society spilled from every conceivable eatery orifice, of which there were many, everyone sipping rosé and cappuccino and taking the mezze option or the sharing platter, not an egg sarnie or a pie in sight.