As I jogged along, I rehearsed the dialogue in my head, which would be delivered, not shrilly or hysterically, but calmly and reasonably. Without inflammatory and exaggerated language — or swearing — but with a rational, albeit censorious lexicon. It would include words like ‘inappropriate’. And . . . yes, inappropriate. I'd think of more later. Right now, I had to get down to the beach and that involved getting down this bloody steep cliff. I paused at the top, panting. I'd jogged quite a long way. Celia, a dot in the distance, was still painting in the next bay, much further along. Hers was the easier climb down, the one most people took, but I chose this one: the vertical, more direct route, knowing from childhood experience it was doable. It looked sheer and hazardous, but it actually had good hand and footholds and — if I didn't break my neck it was certainly the quickest way down.

Tommy was still on the beach, flat out, with Janey's clothes over him. So she was still there, even though from this vantage point I couldn't see her. She was most probably on the rocks where people lay and sunbathed particularly minus a towel as she was now — directly below me. Beneath the overhang of the cliff.

Unfit I might be, but it helped that I was small and agile. The climb came back to me in moments. The trainers helped. I almost remembered each foothold, each step down, which tussock to trust and hold on to. I eased myself down slowly, facing the cliff. Oh yes, a proper climb. The others would have come around the other way. When I got to the bottom I dusted off my hands, pleased with myself. I turned and trotted towards Tommy, still comatose, glancing about for Janey as I ran. Damn, no sign of her. Where was she? Coming to a running kneel in the sand like a footballer after scoring a goal, I tapped Tommy's T-shirt-draped arm.

“Tommy. Tommy, wake up."

"Huh? Whaa?"

I removed the cap so he could see. He squinted and tried to focus, his eyes cloudy. I gave him a moment. He blinked. Presently he found his voice.

"You? Again? Who are you, Macbeth? You don't half like murdering sleep."

“Sorry. Really sorry, Tommy, but this is urgent. Where's Janey?"

"Urgent?" He blinked. "I'll tell you what's urgent. I try and catch a few Zs in the study, but no, you have to have me awake. Then I come down here to get away from you, but no, you have to have me again. Are you stalking me, woman?"

“Tommy, please be serious, this is really urgent. Where's Janey?"

He sat up. Rubbed his eyes blearily. Gazed around. “Darned if I know."

“But she left her clothes to cover you up. She must be here somewhere." I stood up and stared at the rocks. Had she seen me arrive and was hiding?