Later that morning, as I waited for Roger in the gunroom, I reflected that Cornwall did rather have this effect on people. It brought out the holiday spirit, even if you lived here, and with that came frivolous concerns like holiday romances and ridiculous crushes. The first of which, Celia, if I remembered, had had on Babs. Now they seemed to be sniping at one another. I sighed. Ah well, she'd settle down. She'd soon realize tedious normal life went on down here just the same as it did everywhere, even if one was ambushed by glorious views at every turn and the sound of the waves crashing on the sand, which got the old hormones going. In the fifties, apparently, film directors would cut to pounding surf to suggest an orgasm. I gazed out of the gunroom window trying to remember when I'd last had one of those. The huge cedar tree on the lawn spread its green skirts and cast a dark shadow across my thoughts. But not enough to obscure the view beyond. The banks of shocking pink rhododendron bushes gave way to a strip of shimmering turquoise water. I smiled. Always there in the distance. Always a glimpse. More so in Cornwall than anywhere else. Always hope.

Making their way towards that very same vista across the lawn this morning, right on cue, as if that same, unseen fifties director had whispered ‘action’, came a party of attractive specimens to grace it. The twins were first, in shorts and T-shirts, blond, skinny and brown. Theo was keeping a ball in the air with a plastic bat, and Ibby was maintaining a regular skip beside him, so that although he ran ahead in between batting he dropped the ball a lot and she steadily skipped past. They were followed by Christina, a beach bag swinging from her hand, the habitual jeans replaced by utilitarian shorts and bog-standard flip-flops. Quite long, those white shorts. Big side pockets. Not my style, but there you go. In contrast, Janey, behind her with Tommy, was certainly not foregoing her pink lipstick and gold sandals, and was wearing a very fetching navy mini skirt together with a red polka dot bikini top. Beside her, Christina looked . . . well, a bit frumpy, I realized with a start. Janey wasn't a mother, of course, that helped enormously, but all the same. Christina had lost that joie de vivre, that edge, that I remembered. It was as if Janey, in this particular little vignette, had stolen it. I watched her teasing Tommy, pretending to link arms but actually linking her leg around his so he very nearly fell over. I laughed as he stumbled, my voice echoing in this tall room.