"Busy little place, isn't it?" I ventured, keeping my voice steady. I nodded towards the buzzing port as we approached, clanking with fishing boats and machinery and men bringing in their catches, shouting to one another as they hauled up brimming nets. Seagulls screamed overhead, poised to plunder. Tommy glanced up gratefully from his shoes, pleased, I could see, that I was going to give him a certain amount of time to collect his thoughts.

"It certainly is. Your man at the bar told me it's the largest fishing port in England."

"Gordon did? That's uncommonly garrulous of him. He's a silent soul."

"Only when I told him I was waiting for Shona. She's something of a local celebrity, clearly. Let's walk round to the end of the quay."

As we followed the jetty, the seagulls seemed to increase their screeching and the mainsails slapped and jangled all the louder, as if someone had hit the special-effects button in a Radio 4 play. Appropriate, I decided, under the circum-stances, since I felt I was taking part in a drama of someone else's creation and direction. Certainly not mine. That fear of the unknown and lack of control suddenly made me unable to tell Tommy that, despite the new restaurants, it was still fishing that kept this port afloat, or even about the colony of artists who'd settled here in the thirties for the light and made it famous. Instead, I just let the cacophony of seaside noises be the soundtrack to his contemplation. We walked down the long quay around the harbor in silence, skirting the mooring lines tied to huge bollards, heading out to sea. Finally we found a bench, right at the end, looking towards the horizon. I'm sorry to say that the moment my bottom hit the salty wooden slats, I reverted to type.

"What did she mean, Tommy?" I asked nervously. “Tell her the rest?"

Tommy leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He narrowed his eyes into the watery blue distance. After a moment, he spoke.

“Did you ever wonder why I was so against you marrying Hugo?"

I blinked in surprise at his profile, but he kept his eyes on the small blue fishing boat chugging slowly towards us.

"Yes, of course. You didn't think I was right for him. Not good enough." I hesitated. "No, OK. That's harsh. That's what I told myself then." I struggled to verbalize the truth, which had taken years to admit, even to myself. "You knew he wasn't in love with me. Knew he was in love with Christina."

"Correct. But still only halfway there. He loved you, Flora, but he wasn't in love with you. He loved Christina, sure, but he wasn't in love with her either."

I frowned. "What d’you mean?"

"Hugo's gay, Flora."