He gets to his feet, seizing this opportunity. ‘I’m dog-sitting him,’ he tells her. ‘His owners live just round the head of the creek. I’m looking after the house and Reggie whilst they’re away for a couple of months. My name’s Cosmo.’

He holds out his hand and she takes it briefly with a firm clasp.

‘I’m Amy,’ she says. ‘I’m a local. I work with my dad. I’m a painter and decorator.’

He’s slightly taken aback but doesn’t show it.

‘So that’s like interior design? Must be fascinating.’

She smiles at his effort to reclassify her work, to make it sound more upmarket, but shakes her head, rejecting it.

‘No,’ she says. ‘Just painting and decorating. I like working with light and space and colour. That’s all.’

‘Sounds good,’ he says, trying to make right his well-intentioned blunder. ‘You must be pretty busy round here with all the holiday letting.’

‘We are.’ She bends to stroke Reggie. ‘What did you say his name is?’

‘Reggie,’ Cosmo reminds her. ‘He’s such a good dog. So obedient and well behaved.’

‘You’ll soon change that,’ she says, and nods to him. ‘See you around, then.’

‘Yes.’ He’s reluctant to leave it so casually. ‘I saw you earlier in the Coffee Shop. Perhaps we could have a coffee sometime?’

‘Perhaps we could.’ She smiles, and then relents a little. ‘I’m in most mornings around ten thirtyish. I’ll look out for you.’

She turns away, walking with that easy graceful stride, and he watches her out of sight and then looks down at Reggie. It seems that there is a look of reproach in Reggie’s brown eyes: disapproval, even.

‘Oh, come on!’ says Cosmo defensively. ‘It’s just coffee, OK? It’s not like a proper date or anything.’

He grabs the end of Reggie’s lead and they set off towards Island Street, heading back to the creek, past the quirky galleries and cafés, the Salcombe Distilling Company. Cosmo has promised himself a visit to the Distillery and Gin School. They have a tasting bar but he hasn’t quite liked to go on his own. He thinks it might make him look a bit of a loser. Briefly he wonders if Amy likes gin and, almost as a knee-jerk reaction, he pulls out his phone and pauses to send a text to Becks. Reggie stands patiently watching him. His tail wags gently as if with approval and Cosmo begins to laugh.

‘What are you?’ he demands. ‘My conscience or something? Tell you what. How about we go up on Dartmoor? Explore a bit? OK. I know you’ve done it all before but I haven’t. I’m on holiday.’