He is delighted that she is immediately on his wavelength. Becks regards his passion for photography as a kind of childish game that bores her.

‘I shan’t give up,’ he tells Amy. ‘I’ll get there one day. It’ll be the perfect storm.’

‘So have you had your coffee this morning?’ she asks. ‘I’m going for some breakfast. Want to join me? Where’s the dog?’

‘We went for a very early walk around Snapes Point,’ he tells her, as they head for the Coffee Shop. He doesn’t mention that he’s already been in for his coffee. ‘Poor old Reggie was knackered so he stayed at home.’

He follows her inside, glances around and waves to Cara, who is sitting by the window, whilst Amy goes to the counter to order.

‘I’m having scrambled eggs and bacon,’ she says. ‘D’you want some?’

‘Just coffee,’ he answers. ‘I’ll get mine.’

They sit down together and she begins to talk about her work, the renovation of the cottage, planning the colours for a nursery, decorating a converted sail loft.

‘So if you’re not a photographer,’ she says, ‘what do you do when you’re not minding Reggie and house-sitting?’

He tries to explain his work in London as a risk assessment analyst and she opens her eyes wide at him.

‘Sounds very clever,’ she says. ‘I’m full of admiration for anyone who works in IT.’

‘Are you?’ He’s taken aback but pleased. ‘It’s great to have time off, though. It was amazing luck that my friend’s parents needed a dog-and-house-sitter just now. I love it here.’

‘Not missing London?’ Her breakfast arrives and she picks up her knife and fork. ‘Not bored yet?’

He laughs. ‘You have to be kidding,’ but he feels another little stab of guilt. He should be missing Becks, or at least telling Amy about her. But he doesn’t. It’s as if he’s in a different dimension, an alternative universe that has nothing to do with his work or London or Becks. Out of sight, out of mind. And anyway, what harm is there in sitting in a café talking to a girl? This time Reggie isn’t here to act as his conscience and Cosmo relaxes, picks up his coffee and sits back in his chair. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the words chalked on the board above his head: Dolce far Niente. And he smiles to himself.