‘Oh!’ This sounded exciting – it was the most beautiful place. He’d obviously been giving it quite a bit of thought. And knowing how much Dermot was adored in the area, even more now he was known to be writing again, a film was to be made of Mountain Road, his first book, and he was bringing in more than a trickle of wealth along with his fame, she felt fairly sure the farmer would willingly sell him a field. She suspected the local planning official would also grant planning permission for it if he possibly could.

‘I thought we’d have our picnic there and maybe make a few sketches of what we might want.’

It sounded like heaven and Laura was ridiculously pleased with the way he so easily and readily said ‘we’ these days, but she didn’t comment. Anything too enthusiastic would cause Dermot to kiss her and then they might not get to their picnic destination by teatime.

They walked on in silence, Laura reliving everything that had happened since they’d last climbed the hills together and looked out over the sparkling sea. She was now working full-time as an editor, mostly at home, so she could indulge herself by cooking for Dermot when he wasn’t cooking for her. They were a very modern couple. There were times when Laura still couldn’t quite believe it wasn’t all a dream. Then she would pinch herself and know that it was all deliciously real.

Bridget had left the village, returning to where she’d been when Laura first arrived. Although no one said anything, during the couple of times she and Dermot had gone to the pub together, she got the impression people were relieved that it was she and not Bridget who had captured the heart of their favourite bachelor.

Dermot had started a fourth book. He had turned one of the bedrooms into a study. It was a room she hadn’t been in when she’d found him after he’d disappeared from the world. It was where he had been writing, writing, writing the book he had hidden under the bed that was now being fought over by several publishing houses. Now his writer’s block was cured, he couldn’t seem to stop, as if all the unwritten words of the previous years had been dammed up and were now flooding out of him.