‘Oh they do, you know, but let’s not argue about it. It’s time for tea. You English must have your tea, isn’t that so? But don’t worry, you don’t have to move. I have all the makings.’

‘The thermos is a wonderful invention,’ she murmured.

‘Indeed, but we’re not having any truck with them. I have my Volcano kettle with me.’

She sat up. ‘Your what?’

‘Do you not have them in England? Sure you’re terribly behind the times over there.’

She watched as he took out of his rucksack a copy of the Irish Times and a large cylindrical object in a drawstring bag. He took this out and then started to tear up sheets of newspaper and stuff them down the column in the middle. When all the newspaper was used up, he took the cork from the top. ‘Right now, I’m off to find some water.’

He took a small can from the rucksack. ‘You can go back to sleep if you like. I may have to go a little way away to find it.’

She closed her eyes. This was so blissful. The thought of catching the ferry and going back to England intruded on her joy and she batted it away. Live in the moment, she told herself, using a saying that was printed on uplifting postcards they sold in the bookshop. Just enjoy what you have right now, she added, quoting another of them.

Dermot came back a few minutes later. He poured the water into a little spout at the top of the kettle, and then set light to the paper.

‘How does it work?’ she asked, fascinated and amused.

‘The paper burning in the central column heats the water in the jacket outside. One copy of The Times, or the Irish Times, is just enough to boil the water. Madam will have her tea in but a moment.’

‘I don’t remember Madam asking for tea, she was offered it.’

‘Don’t split hairs.’

‘Well no, that would be cruel,’ she agreed.

‘You’re a mad girl, so you are.’

The sun, which had burned so enthusiastically, was fading. She lay back on the heather, although she was getting cold now. She loved him thinking she was a mad girl, when really, back on the mainland, she was almost boringly efficient and predictable.

He put tea bags into mugs and then poured on the boiling water from the little spout in the water-jacket. Milk came from a jam jar.

They sat together companionably, clutching the mugs of tea and looking at the sea. A few clouds were gathering now, and a chilly wind was getting up.

‘Thank you so much for bringing me here,’ she said, aware that their final parting would be hard for her. ‘It’s been a lovely day.’

‘For me too,’ he said. ‘You’re great company.’

She sipped her tea.