Yes, lovely man. He could easily have suggested it himself, but was taking his cue from me, not pushing anything. I liked that. I realized that if I was attracted to men at all these days, it was men like this, who didn't push, and who let me slowly come to them. And there was plenty of time, I reasoned. The winged chariot was not at our backs, if neither of us wanted it to be. When we reached the beach, and walked down the steps on to the sand, he put his hands in his pockets and didn't even attempt to take my hand, or even my arm. As we chatted and meandered along the seashore, laughing as we stopped occasionally to skim stones, or as a wave nearly reached our feet and we had to hop out of the way, it occurred to me, that since I was here for the duration of the summer, and he was going nowhere, we really did have world enough and time. And that gentle consideration and slow progress were not, for once, a prevarication. A stalling of real life. But a luxury I could, and should, afford.

Chapter 16

As Ted and I rounded the corner to where the rocks crept in towards the sea, we both saw the camp fire ahead of us at the same time. Flames leaped into the night sky and snapped and crackled in the darkness. A party was in full swing around it. Silhouettes of darkened figures surrounded it, and music was playing, no doubt from an iPhone, but pretty loudly. People were sitting or standing, swaying or half dancing, glasses or bottles in hands, cigarettes glowing.

"Is that still allowed?" I asked in surprise as we made our way towards it.

"What, the fire or the music?"

"Both, I suppose."

Ted shrugged. "I imagine the music is fine until someone complains, and the fire is OK unless the beach is privately owned. Which I gather has always been the Bellingdons’ bugbear."

I caught the satisfaction in his voice and glanced up at him. "I'm a Bellingdon."

He smiled down at his shoes. "Yes, OK. Point taken. I'm being chippy. But they must be mad as a snake that they sold it."

"Actually, Roger's grandfather donated it to the village; he was quite the philanthropist. But no, I don't imagine Belinda's ecstatic about it. Iris told me she never comes down because it grates too much. If she did own it, of course, it would gleam like a new pin. She'd have the Hoover out twice a day, no litter at all, so maybe private ownership is a good thing?" I ventured mischievously.

He grinned good-naturedly. "And she'd sit on her pristine beach in splendid isolation with not a hint of hoi polloi in sight. Speaking of which, don't we know those two reprobates?"