I’d seen Mary in Culdaff slicing powerfully through the waves, heading so far out she became nothing but a tiny speck. I was more of a teabag swimmer, a quick dip in and out. And I hadn’t felt that shuddering icy shock in six months; the sea in Florida was a warm bath in comparison.

I dated the attendance sheet and looked up. “But you must have been swimming in the rain. Was it cold?”

She breathed out and closed her eyes. “It was absolute heaven.”

Mary McCauley was one of life’s natural beauties. She never wore make-up, dressed in the simplest of clothes – today she was wearing a simple shirt and jeans with a sprig of sea pinks in the buttonhole – and she had allowed herself to put on a little weight as she’d grown older, achieving what could best be described as a sort of a voluptuous elegance. I’d heard she was a fabulous cook, which was part of the success of her guesthouse.

“What was it you wanted to speak to me about?” I asked.

Mary leaned in; hands tucked between her thighs. “I don’t know if you know about this charity cycle that’s happening. Or supposed to be happening, if it ever stops raining.” She glanced towards the window where, sure enough, drops began to race each other down the glass.

“I do. They were pretty hard to miss in the square yesterday.”

She nodded. “Well, I have some of them staying with me up at the guesthouse. And something happened last night that I’m not very happy about.”

“What was that?”

“Noises.” Mary looked at my attendance pad, patiently waiting for me to write it down. “Late at night.”

I obliged. “What kind of noises?”

She tilted her head. “Like a row. Shouting. It was coming from one of my double rooms; there was a couple staying there.”

“And?” I’d spent so much time with Americans who were only too willing to “share” that I’d forgotten how hard it was to get Irish people to talk about personal matters, or even give instructions. Even someone like Mary.

“I knocked on their door and when they didn’t answer, I opened it with my key. She was throwing things at him. His wife.”

I studied her face. “What kind of things?”

Her eyes widened; she had green eyes, almost turquoise. “Whatever she could get her hands on. Things from his bag, aftershave, facecloths, a toothbrush. And he was just juking about. As if it was a game.”

“And was it?”

Mary gave a tight shake of her head. “No. She was angry, really angry. He’s a big man but he was just standing there while she screamed and threw things at him. I’m sure he could have stopped her, but he was just taking it, like he didn’t care.”

“And what did you do?”