She just wanted to build a place for herself in Nelson’s Bar, she thought dreamily …

Aaron lay on the warm sand and watched Clancy as she slept, her chest rising and falling as she breathed. The black and gold fabric of her swimming costume clung to her like a second skin. It was pretty, but he definitely preferred her first skin, the soft silkiness he’d become intimately acquainted with last night.

He’d have to wake her or the rising tide would splash the soles of her feet and do it for him. Harry and Rory had already slipped off quietly into the surf to swim back to Zig-zag Beach and trek up to the clifftop. The last slope of Secret Beach was shallow and covered rapidly, so it was better to go now than be there to battle the first waves that would hit the cliffs behind them and bounce back to create inhospitable white water. He used to throw himself around in it when he was Harry’s age but it didn’t hold much appeal now.

He reached out and traced the shape of Clancy’s breasts through her costume, watching her nipples peak in response. ‘Time to wake up,’ he murmured.

Her eyes fluttered open. She stretched and smiled. ‘That’s your normal waking-people-up technique, is it?’

He dipped his fingers into her cleavage to enjoy the satin of her skin. ‘I have a repertoire,’ he boasted.

She laughed, fishing his fingers from her swimwear and sitting up. Her expression altered as she took in how little of the beach was left. ‘Wow! The tide’s in.’

‘Time to go,’ he agreed. The waves were breaking almost at their feet now.

She groaned, but rolled to her feet and waded reluctantly into the water with a loud ‘Brr!’ The sun had moved on, making the sea feel a damn sight colder than when they’d arrived. They countered the chill with energetic strokes as they set off to rejoin the rest of the world.

Clancy dragged her feet all the way up Zig-zag Path, yawning. They arranged that she’d call at Aaron’s when she’d showered and properly woken up and he’d take Nelson for another run, meantime. He kissed her goodbye when they’d retrieved their clothes and dressed, then watched her traipse past the lawn of the B&B, its brightly coloured parasols snapping in the breeze, to the wide mouth of Droody Road. He turned towards the declining sun and Potato Hall Row bathed in the light from another pink sky.

But once he reached his cottage his feet, as if he’d already arranged things with them, carried him further through the shadows gathering in Long Lane, up to Frenchmen’s Way and De Silva House. When he turned up the drive he paused and looked at the red brick, admiring the building’s stately lines, so tall and dignified compared to his squat flint cottage. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but he knew he had to say something. He found his family sitting down to dinner.