This, however, and more, was all still to come. As I walked down a winding path with the least treacherous of climbs to the sandy Banfield Bay, deemed the most suitable for beach sports, I could see that the children's races were already in progress. Roger, in empire-builder shorts, pink, delighted, and hopping up and down with childish excitement, was behind the foghorn, bellowing instructions, oblivious to the fact that his voice was already amplified and there was no need to shout. Belinda, along with some parents and teachers, scurried around the mass of children from the local school, all over-excited and pleased to see each other during the long school holiday and not concentrating terribly hard. Visiting children, those who dared, or whose parents pushed them — certainly the second-home owners liked to consider themselves part of the community — looked nervous and wary as the host children stared and whispered about them. This obviously included Theo and Ibby who, Christina had told me quietly, hated it, but there really was no way out for them. I saw them sitting glumly by and slightly apart, Christina beside them for moral support. She caught my eye and rolled hers. I grinned back sympathetically. I liked Christina, it occurred to me with some surprise, despite her having stolen my husband.

"Line up for the egg and spoon! The egg and spoon! Anyone in Year Four — straight line, please!" Roger boomed.

"It's Year Five, you fool!" Belinda beetled across and told him in a loud hiss, which everyone heard because she was too close to the loud-hailer, and as Year Four children obediently lined up.

"Apologies, apologies! As you were, Year Four! Hold hard, stand by your beds! Year Five — quick march! Tight formation!"

So anachronistic was Roger's mix of hunting and military commands that bewildered small children wandered around, looking for beds to stand by and hold hard and no one knew what was going on. Belinda got more and more irritated, rushing back and forth in a dress of such voluminous proportions, one felt she really might take off and sail magnificently out to sea, contradicting his every pronouncement.

"Number seven wins!" Roger roared. "A very well-deserved victory for little Ryan Trelawney if I'm not mistaken! Knew his great-grandfather! Took me on my first fishing trawler!"

“Number four wins!" Belinda rushed up to him. "Number seven is disqualified for holding on to his egg - are you blind, Roger?"

"Nonsense, shows initiative. I always held mine. Just don't get caught, that's all. Well done, Ryan!"

"But he did get caught," she seethed, as number four promptly burst into noisy tears on being handed second place. Ryan, a beefy, confident lad, beamed smugly.

"I think we're going to declare a dead heat for this race!" announced Roger jovially, whereupon Ryan, miffed at being robbed of solo status, augmented number four's tears by giving him a hefty shove to the sand.