Tilly woke up and rolled over, straight into the tanned back of Graeme Millar. She recoiled and put her hand over her mouth. It wasn’t that she’d forgotten what had happened. It was just that, in her dreams, she’d been elsewhere; that, as well as the fact that she hadn’t woken up with a man for a long time. She took her hand away from her mouth and thought carefully about how to play the situation.

After they’d parted company with Graeme’s very suspicious friend, they’d spent the afternoon together and he’d asked her out for dinner. She figured that being with the man who’d found George’s body was about the best place to be for her research. When he drove her home – probably over the limit, but she guessed that was what people did in tiny towns up here – she’d invited him in. It had happened naturally, and she told herself she hadn’t done it for her work. But now she felt a bit uneasy. She’d created a whole fake identity, and every minute she spent with this lovely man, who’d been so generous and great fun, was another minute lying. She’d thought initially that a man his age must have a wife and kids, but she’d been wrong, about the wife at least: she’d left him five years ago for a local builder who Graeme drank with in the pub. It was all very cosy. He did have two daughters with his ex, and their arrangement was amicable. He hadn’t had a relationship since though and that surprised her, because he was extremely good-looking, funny and fit.

She watched his back move as he breathed and considered her next move. She actually liked the guy. She loved how laid-back he was, and she’d been pleasantly surprised by how much she’d enjoyed the end of the evening as well. He was confident in bed, and took everything slowly, making sure he pleased her as well as himself. It was, in her limited experience, a rarity.

He rolled over. To begin with he seemed to suffer the same disorientation, but when he realised where he was, he smiled and drew her close.

‘I’m taking today off. Fancy going sailing?’