A little before nine the next morning, I knocked on the girls’ door and said, ‘Ellie, can you let me in?’

Just as I had expected, she did, ignoring the faint grumbling from Ava who was still in bed. She must have got dressed and ready for the beach in the dark; the curtains were still closed. She’d picked at one of the room service breakfasts sitting on trays on the desk; the other was untouched.

‘I had to read my book in the bathroom. Ava won’t get up,’ Ellie said as I went over to pull back one of the curtains.

‘Probably feeling the after-effects of the night before,’ I said. ‘No more Armagnac for you, young lady.’

Ava mumbled something and sat up and gave me a look that was unambiguously hostile. Her face was puffy from sleep – or perhaps from crying – and her hair was tousled. Usually she would have hated anyone to see her like this. Usually I wouldn’t have insisted on intruding, but if there had ever been a time for not respecting her boundaries it was now.

‘Ellie, if you’ve got your all your things ready, you can go next door and get Mark, and go down to the beach with him,’ I said. ‘I’ll come down and find you in a bit.’

Ellie immediately looked apprehensive, but steeled herself to do as I had asked. ‘OK. Make sure that you keep my rose.’

‘Your rose?’

Each of the breakfast trays was adorned with a single rose in a small silver vase. Ellie’s rose was missing; looking round, I saw that she’d put it in a glass of water on her bedside table.

‘Nobody ever gave me a rose before,’ Ellie said, and I was reminded – not that I needed any reminding – of how strange this must all have seemed to her, right from the point when Mark had that first bouquet delivered to the house.

‘It won’t last,’ Ava said.

‘I don’t care. I’m going to keep it as long as I can,’ Ellie said. She hesitated. ‘You won’t be long, will you?’

‘I shouldn’t think so.’

‘See you later, then.’ She glowered at Ava and shot me a look of faint but resigned desperation, picked up her beach bag and went out.

I touched the coffee-pot on Ava’s tray. Still warm. ‘Do you want any of this?’

‘You should go,’ Ava said.

I peeled the lid off the container of orange juice, poured it into a glass and brought it over to set down on her bedside table.

‘I don’t want to go until I’ve apologised,’ I said.

I sat down on the bed next to hers. That familiar face, defiant still, wanting to lock me out. Wanting to and needing not to at the same time.

‘I never meant to hurt you, Ava,’ I said. ‘You’re my daughter. I love you. I would walk over hot coals for you. I’m sorry for making such a mess of everything.’