Three hellish months, trying to come to terms with the one adversary that wouldn’t accept anything other than total surrender. Three months watching death inch closer and closer to the woman she loved. Three months trying to accept the unacceptable. Then that last week, when Frances was beyond words, beyond the defiance that had insisted on Lindsay’s rights in the face of her intransigent family. They had done what neither life nor cancer could; they had separated Lindsay and Frances. When the news finally came, it had been from one of the workers at the hospice. At the funeral, Lindsay had stood apart, flanked by a couple of close friends, the ultimate spectre at the feast. That had been five weeks ago, and nothing was getting any easier.

She dragged the last lungful of smoke out of her cigarette and flicked the stub into the waves. Moments later, she jumped with shock as a warm wet tongue licked her ear. Lindsay straightened up, nearly toppling over in the process, and stared down at a golden retriever, tongue hanging out, shaggy coat dripping with salt water, tail wagging amiably.

A breathless voice behind her called, “Becky! Come here.” Lindsay turned to see Laura bearing down on her. The dog didn’t move. “Oh, Lindsay, it’s you. I’m sorry, she thinks everybody was put on the planet to play with her.”

“No problem. I was miles away, or I would have heard her.” Lindsay reached down and fondled the dog’s damp, silky ears. “She’s a beauty,” she added rather stiffly.

“I couldn’t resist her,” Laura admitted. “She belonged to a friend of mine who was transferred to Brussels. Of course she couldn’t take Becky with her. She was about to advertise for a good home for her when . . . well, when my circumstances changed and made it possible for me to have her. But then, I suppose you know all about that,” she said in tones of resignation.

“I just don’t understand how you could do that to him,” Lindsay said in a much cooler tone than the dog had been granted. She studied Laura, speculating how much time it took in the morning to shape that flowing crest of chestnut hair, and how much of the problem with the ozone layer could be laid at the door of her hair spray. Even walking the dog on Blackpool beach, Laura had managed to achieve an air of elegance that Lindsay would have been hard pressed to match at a formal dinner.

Laura raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows. Beneath them, her eyes were wary. “So he’s been discussing our private business with all and sundry,” she said coldly.

Lindsay felt the color rise in her cheeks. “You screw around with someone else behind his back and you expect him to keep his mouth shut for the sake of your reputation?”

Laura took a startled step back. “He told you that?”