Matilda paused at the bottom of the cliff path. Three lots of people were getting ready for the long climb up. One group was having a last swim. Matilda had seen them before, knew their routine. They would soon be gone. She walked along the stones enjoying her rope soles. At the far end of the beach she stopped by the favourite rock. Here she would sit in the sun and wait. She put the basket in the shade and undressed, pulling on the bathing suit, deciding to swim before the picnic. It was early yet. It would be light for a long time.

Out to sea a boat sailed slowly across the bay. She could hear the voices of the people on board and a dog barking. The boat had a blue sail.

Not wanting to wet her hair she walked into the sea and swam slowly, breast stroke, no effort, her body received by the wonderfully warm sea. Here so often they had swum, paddling out slowly and chatting with the same closeness as the closeness of bed but unleavened by sex. Matilda, swimming gently, savoured the memory of long swims, the easy talk, the intimacy, remembering conversations wrapped in water, their heads close, bodies floating. A long way out she turned to look at the cliffs which were so like Sounion.

Down the zigzag track came a party of people, young, lithe, noisy. They laughed and talked among themselves. They carried armfuls of rugs, carrier bags, spare sweaters. In jeans and T-shirts they were beautiful and young. Two girls danced down the track swinging a bottle of wine in each hand. Their voices carried across the water.

‘Bobby and Vanessa collect the driftwood. We’ll get the fire for the barbecue going while you swim.’

‘Super, it’s so warm we can sleep down here.’

‘Super, super.’

‘I shan’t sleep, I shall watch the moon. Super.’

‘I shall watch Vanessa.’

‘Super.’

‘Let’s swim naked.’

‘Super.’

‘Not yet, there’s someone in the water.’

‘Oh, bugger, is there?’

‘Yes, but she’ll soon be gone.’

‘Oh yes. Oh, isn’t it super.’

Cold, sick with disappointment Matilda swam for the shore, thrusting her arms through the unwelcome sea no longer hers.

Slowly, bitterly she dried herself. The barbecue party had settled fifty yards away. Fifty yards and the beach was half a mile long.

‘I’d meant to use that flat rock she’s on as a table but she’s on it. It’s got useful dips which hold the food. I mix the salad in one of them.’

‘She’ll be gone soon, don’t worry. It’s a super rock, just the job, super.’

Matilda slowly rubbed her legs, pushing the towel down to her ankles, up, then down again.

‘I thought we’d have it to ourselves, it’s always empty at this time, everyone goes home,’ the boy arranging the fire grumbled.