‘Sebastian Montague-Roland, Allerdale House. You probably knew my grandfather; everybody seemed to.’

The man spoke of the late Lord Allerdale with a side portion of resentment. Graeme had seen it before many times, especially within the officer class. It was the paradox, he assumed, of getting to one’s station in life because of Daddy’s status, but at the same time feeling acrimony over the fact.

‘Your grandfather was a great man; I was sorry to hear of his passing. He was a gentleman and you don’t see a lot of those these days.’

‘Quite.’

‘How can I help you today?’ Graeme asked once more.

Sebastian looked around the cabin and picked up a few brochures. ‘Well, you might have heard that I’m refurbishing the estate, and I’m after a few select sailing items that are quite difficult to get hold of.’

Graeme nodded. That was his trade. ‘Such as?’

‘Antique racing shells.’

‘Composite?’

‘Good heavens, no. Spanish cedar.’

Graeme raised his eyebrows. ‘Like rocking horse shit, I imagine.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I deal in plastic, mate. If I rented Spanish cedar boats, I’d be out of business in a week.’

‘I was clearly mistaken. I could have sworn that my grandfather said you knew your racing shells.’

‘Of course, I admire them from afar, but I don’t deal in them. You need a specialist for that, someone like Pocock.’

‘I was hoping to circumnavigate the obvious dealers. I want it to be unique. It’s for decorative purposes, obviously. I’m planning a high-end restaurant as part of the leisure complex at Allerdale Estate.’

Last time Graeme checked, the property was called Allerdale House, but the guy had aspirations, he gave him that.

‘I can have a look and ask around,’ he said.

‘That’s what I was hoping. I am most grateful. I’m interested in any decorative oars, rigging and boat paraphernalia as well. I’m going for a classical look; think roaring twenties.’

He passed Graeme a card with a phone number on, brushing his hand and lingering just a little too long. Graeme took the card and flicked it between his thumb and forefinger.

‘Righty-ho,’ Sebastian said. ‘I’m about all summer – well, apart from looking after business in London, of course. I’ll be up and down, so to speak.’

Graeme ignored the blatant flirting. ‘You got yourself a project manager, have you? I’m handy as they come and know all the local trades.’ He might as well use the man’s obvious interest to his advantage.

‘Are you applying for a job?’

‘If you put it like that.’ He smiled his best and widest grin, holding Sebastian’s gaze. ‘We could negotiate the use of the beach in return for me sending custom your way. There’s plenty of wealthy Americans come here asking about good food and facilities.’