Conner stared at her blankly and then realised that kissing Flora had actually driven everything out of his head. Everything, including the fact that he was supposed to be seeing patients.

‘Of course. Sorry.’ He managed something approximating a smile. ‘Come in.’ And then he recognised her. Agatha Patterson, the elderly lady who lived in the converted lifeboat cottage on the beach. ‘I expect you’ve come to exact your revenge. I seem to remember raiding your flower-beds one night.’

‘You gave them to that girl—the pretty blonde one. I still remember how pleased she was.’

Conner gave a faint smile. ‘That was at least sixteen years ago so I’m guessing you’re not here because you’re worried about your memory. Am I supposed to apologise for helping myself to your flowers?’

‘Goodness, I don’t want an apology! I should be the one thanking you.’ Agatha closed the door and walked stiffly into the room. ‘You livened up my life. You were always down on the beach below my property. I liked watching you.’

Remembering some of the things he’d done on the beach below her house, Conner inhaled sharply. ‘How much could you see?’

‘Well, my eyes were better in those days, of course.’ She chuckled and walked slowly towards the chair, her body bent in the shape of a question mark. She was a grey-haired lady with a jolly smile and a twinkle in her eye that hinted at a lively past. ‘I was always amazed by how successful you were. Quite the lad, Conner MacNeil.’

Conner gave a reluctant laugh. ‘All right, that’s probably enough of that conversation. Did you want to ask me something or are you just here to threaten me with my wicked past?’

‘Oh, no, nothing like that. I heard what you did for little Lily, by the way. I think you’re amazing.’

‘Thanks.’ So amazing that he’d left a woman crying in the room opposite. ‘What can I do for you, Mrs Patterson?’

‘Well, funnily enough, it’s my eyes I’ve come about. They’re incredibly sore.’

‘Too much watching people on the beach,’ Conner said in a wry tone, and she gave a delighted smile.

‘There’s been hardly any action since you left. These days everyone is too worried about being arrested. Not that you ever worried about that sort of thing. Anyway, I wouldn’t normally bother you with anything so pathetically trivial, but my eyes are so sore that the pain is reducing the time I can spend on the internet.’

Conner stared at her. ‘The internet?’

‘And if you’re thinking of telling me to reduce the time I spend on the computer, you needn’t waste your breath. I’m careful never to do more than eight hours a day.’

Conner glanced at his own computer screen, searching for the information he wanted. ‘You’re…eighty-six, Mrs Patterson. Is that right?’

‘Eighty-seven next week.’