Yes, this was very good for me, this little exercise, I thought as I went back to hose down my horse. A drip, drip dose of reality, not fantasy, which Hugo, talking to Janey now, as she rubbed her gray down beside me, helped by having a quick nose pick as Janey crouched to sponge the mare's legs. And he farts, and he's losing his hair, and his tummy's fatter and all those things, I told myself. Although he managed to ruin it, perhaps feeling my gaze upon him, by turning and flashing me that shy, Prince William at St Andrews smile, before shuffling inside.

Shuffling. Good. Another splendid observation, Flora, I thought later as I made my way back down the track to the cottage. I swung my basket jauntily. The sea sparkled brilliantly ahead of me, and pink campions studded the green banks beside me like little jewels. He doesn't stride — like his wife — he drags his feet. Always has done. Doesn't pick them up. I will, though, I thought with a grin. Pick them up. Those little defects. They'll mount up, you know. And soon, Flora, you'll have a great mountain which you can pore over forensically at your leisure when you get home. It will do you the world of good.

As I turned the corner where the track forked into a long decline towards our cottage and the dunes, I saw the conservationist coming up towards me, rubber waders over his arm. Celia was right: he was rather attractive if you liked the beach-combed surfer look, which I'd obviously grown out of. And so should he have done, actually, I thought as he approached. On closer inspection he was older than me.

"Lovely evening," I said, with a smile.

"For a ride, I suppose," he said, eyeing my hat and boots in my basket. He stopped in front of me.

"Well, yes," I agreed, a bit nonplussed by his tone. His face was set and tense and a muscle was twitching in his cheek.

"Which totally disrupted the beach clear-up operation we had in place for this evening. Very nice of you to churn up the entire shoreline, exactly where we were planning to trawl."

"Oh, right. Sorry, we had no idea."

"Oh really? The posters around the bay escaped your notice, did they?"

"Yes, they did, actually."

"Which is odd, given that they were on every conceivable footpath and bridle path that leads down."

"Oh — no, we didn't follow the bridle path."

"No, you just came across through the private wood and down on to the beach from wherever you fancied, because the Bellingdons own the land and they can do what they like."

I was thoroughly taken aback now. “Look, I was just riding out and following Iris. I'm sure she had no idea."