At the far end of the path we took the quick way to the beach, through a sweet-smelling pine wood Roger's grandfather had planted years ago and which was now mature, and then took a rocky path down to the shore. My old mare had clearly ridden it a hundred times before and knew exactly where to put her feet, guiding me round the increasingly jagged rocks. I left her to it. Farthing had sadly died after a peaceful retirement in the pastures here two years ago, but this one had been her stable mate, arriving when Farthing was seven and could show her the ropes. Now she was almost an old retainer herself, and very sure-footed, whereas Iris's youngster was on her toes and inevitably stumbled. Iris soothed her with her voice to slow down. Babs was also on a baby, as was Janey, I noticed with interest. She'd clearly proven herself already and I felt slightly peeved, but to be fair, I hadn't ridden for years. As we reached the sand and wound our way around some larger boulders, I noticed the two glamor girls sizing each other up. Janey was looking Babs up and down, and Babs hung back a moment to check out Janey's riding, but Janey's friendly, open manner was disarming and her enthusiasm won Babs over.

"Oh, the riding you have down here — this beach! You guys - do you even realize how lucky you are? Back home I'm restricted to one measly bridle path which goes round and round in circles."

"Where do you ride?" asked Babs.

"Central Park," Janey said.

"Oh cool," I told her. It was.

She shrugged. "It's better than nothing, but it's repetitive and you have to go with a guide, much like in Hyde Park, which I've tried by the way. But at least in London you're left to your own thoughts. If I have to listen to one more lecture on the dredging and maintaining of the Jackie Onassis reservoir I swear I'll go nuts."

"But New York's not really home?"

"No, Connecticut, where it's much better, obviously. But not like this." We broke into a trot as we reached firmer sand. "We're not allowed to ride on the beach, it's private." She made a face.

It was low tide, and the vast, almost empty beach spread out before us in a golden strip, the glistening water lapping it gently. My heart lifted inexorably.

“There's one guy who wouldn't be bored by the dredging and maintaining of the Jackie Onassis reservoir," said Babs, riding up beside me and Janey as we headed for the water. She nodded towards a figure right in the corner where the rock pools were, waist-deep in a rubber wading suit that went up to his armpits and strapped over his shoulders. He was totally preoccupied, his hand suddenly plunging into the water with a jar. I didn't recognize him until he turned and stared.