When he’d finished a long stint, he’d find Laura, who was using the dining room as an office, and snatch her up wanting to make love to her. If she really had to finish a piece of work he’d go off into the kitchen and start cooking, finding recipes on the Internet and then charging off in the car, hunting for esoteric ingredients in all the neighbouring shops. Their local store was considering having a section labelled ‘Dermot’s Follies’ in the hope that his influence might encourage others to buy shiitake mushrooms, truffle oil and capers.

‘I think this is the perfect spot,’ he said.

‘For the picnic or the house?’

‘Both.’

They stood together, arms wrapped round on another, their hands in each other’s back pockets, staring out to sea.

‘Imagine pulling back the curtains to that view every morning,’ said Dermot.

‘On a day like today it would be bliss, but what about when it was stormy and grey?’

‘Then we’d pull them shut again and not get up at all.’

She tried to look disapproving but a smile kept tugging her mouth into the wrong expression. ‘Let’s have tea. Have you got the kettle?’

‘Of course.’ Dermot opened the neck of the rucksack and started pulling things out. ‘Volcano kettle – you’ve got the Irish Times in your bag. Matches, you’ve got those too. Oh, and tea. I think you’ve got that. In a paper bag? Have a look.’

After a bit of rummaging, Laura found a brown paper bag with something that felt like tea in the bottom. ‘Here you are.’

‘Could you just check it is tea?’ Dermot seemed a bit odd suddenly, edgy almost.

‘I don’t think it could be anything else. There’s only just the cake and biscuits in here.’

‘Just have a look in the bag. Here . . .’ He spread a rug on to the short turf. ‘Sit down first.’

Shaking her head at her loved one’s madness, Laura sat on the rug.

‘Now look inside the bag.’

She looked. ‘It’s definitely tea. There’s no doubt it isn’t coffee, hot chocolate or cannabis.’

Dermot collapsed down next to her and took the bag. He peered into it, and then poked in his finger. ‘Here, have another look.’

Obedient but confused, Laura looked. In among the tea leaves was a ring. Her heart missed a beat and a smile spread across her face as she put her hand in the bag and took it out. For some reason she couldn’t speak; she was overcome with a rush of emotion. She studied the ring. It was a ruby, set in gold, with tiny diamonds round it. It looked old. And there was no way that this was anything other than an engagement ring.

Dermot was looking at her anxiously. ‘If you don’t like it, we can choose another one – together,’ he said.