Over the next fortnight, she noticed the pre-festival buzz building day by day throughout Porthmellow along with the committee’s workload. There were performers to contact with schedules, there was information to send out to the stallholders, endless paperwork about hygiene, insurance and safety, plus a string of minor glitches to iron out – and for Sam, this was all on top of running Stargazey Pie.

She and Stefan were setting up for a Friday evening shift on the quay while the town brass band was playing. It was a fine, clear late May evening: the hint of summer in the air, but still cool enough to lure hungry visitors and locals needing to warm up with a tasty pie while they listened to the band and walked around the harbour.

Sam loved the Friday night gig. The band drew locals and visitors from far and wide and the quayside was packed with people singing and clapping along to the medley of popular hits and Cornish folk songs. Some of the Porthmellow fishermen’s choir had also turned up and an impromptu concert was taking place on the cobbles before the band came on. Pints in hand, they sang along to the band, attracting a delighted crowd.

Once the night kicked off in earnest, she was doing a roaring trade. With the pies made and chilled down the day before, all she and Stefan had to do was warm them up in the oven. With rich, herby aromas wafting out of the van, heads turned in their direction as people sniffed the air, tempted by the delicious smells, and the queues lengthened.

Woof! Woof! WOOOOOFFFFFF!

Barks cut through the air right in the middle of the band’s rendition of the ‘Flora Dance’.

People switched their attention away from the band towards a woman being dragged along the quayside by a large Rottweiler.

Stefan turned around from the chiller, which he was filling with cans. ‘What’s that racket?’ he asked.

‘Three guesses.’

Sacha’s leash strained as Bryony trotted to keep up with him while he scrabbled along the cobbles, snorting in ecstasy. It wasn’t only the punters who’d been lured by the scent of juicy chicken and rare breeds beef. To Sacha, the Stargazey Pie van must have seemed like oysters, Belgian truffles and the finest champagne all rolled into one and served off Aidan Turner’s bare chest.

‘He-eel, Sacha!’ Bryony’s bellow was now as loud as the music. ‘Now, don’t be such a silly boy!’ Sacha strained in his studded harness and drool sprayed from his jowls. Customers backed away while Bryony tried to restrain Sacha from leaping on the van like the hound of the Baskervilles. Although Bryony’s current ensemble of a T-shirt with a red hand with the middle finger extended saying ‘You have a problem with me? Take it up with my dog’ might have had something to do with their reluctance to order a pie.