She drove away, leaving him to stand staring after the car, and then he went in to check on Reggie feeling let down; disappointed. Yet there were moments earlier during that evening when they were almost intimate together. They leaned, heads close, laughing, and once he put his hand on hers on the table to emphasize something he was saying, and held it for a moment. She turned her fingers so that they were clasping his and he knows that they were both aware of that little jolt, like a pulse of electricity between them.

Cosmo gives a tiny shrug. Perhaps she’s used to men coming down on holiday, chatting her up, hoping for something more, going away again. And isn’t that exactly what he’s doing?

He walks on swiftly, feeling confused. He can’t get Amy out of his mind; she’s a part of all this magic that’s around him. London and Becks aren’t on his radar here and he doesn’t want to think about his life there. Just for now he wants to live in the moment: walking on the cliffs and in the lanes, looking forward to another evening at one of the local pubs, going into the Coffee Shop and waiting for Amy to come swinging in. He feels more alive than he can remember and when the text pings in he takes out his phone hopefully. Amy has his number now and has promised to tell him when she is free for another meeting. The text is from Becks.

Sounds good down there. Missing you. Thinking of coming for a weekend to recharge my batteries. xxx

As he stares at the text he feels as if he has had a blow to the solar plexus. It’s the last thing he’s been expecting: Becks here, critical, expectant, curious. It simply mustn’t happen – but how can he deflect her? He puts his phone in his pocket and walks on, his mind doubling and twisting and seeking for a solution. And after a while an idea occurs to him. He takes his phone out again and sends a text to Al.

Help. We need to speak.

Amy puts away her stencils and her paints and glances around the small bedroom. Storybook characters and cartoon creatures have been carefully worked into the wall spaces and cupboard doors, and the effect is good. But even as she looks critically at her handiwork, Amy is thinking about Cosmo. As she packs up for the morning she knows that she’s never felt like this before: not this madness, this fizzing in the blood when she’s close to him. She’s almost certain that he’s feeling the same way but she’s too afraid to test it. It’s been such a short time and he’s older, more sophisticated. She doesn’t want to seem a naïve, foolish girl.