‘Maybe they’re not cliff roses.’ Xan’s eyes narrowed nastily. ‘Flowers aren’t exactly my special subject.’

‘I’ll ask Ariadne,’ Dora smiled sweetly. ‘She knows more about plants than David Attenborough does about sperm whales.’

‘Who the hell is Ariadne?’ he asked irritably.

‘Takis’s granddaughter. She looks after the goats and runs the beach bar.’

‘Then she’s not doing a very good job, is she? Kindly remove that animal from my property before it shits all over my olives.’

‘Certainly,’ Dora smiled again. ‘But I thought shit was good for growing things.’ She turned towards the beach path, the goat following her, her heart beating fast and her breath quickening, but maintaining the superior and slightly scary expression that made journalists quake and her clients feel grateful she was representing them and not their rivals.

She shrugged on her Prada rucksack and continued on the path to the beach, not looking back to see if he was still watching her.

When she arrived at the beach bar she found, to her irritation, that it was closed and there was no sign of Ariadne or – much worse – the cappuccino she was longing for.

She took off her plimsolls, rolled up her jeans and walked along the white sand fringed by deep turquoise sea, letting the water lap against her ankles, soothing her irritation. She closed her eyes. Somewhere further along, a lone bird sang in a tamarisk tree. The peace here was like nothing she had ever encountered before. London seemed a lifetime away. She’d always been impatient with all that mindfulness crap, but standing here alone in the landscape, breathing in the clear air, she could for the first time see the point.

Reluctantly, she turned and made for the path.

Half an hour later she plonked herself down next to Penny and Nell, who sat busily writing in a new notebook they had just bought from the little supermarket. ‘I’ve just had a rather angry encounter with that man Xan in the olive grove.’

‘And what exactly were you doing in his olive grove?’ Nell asked, trying not to smile. ‘Checking on the myrtle count?’

Dora gave her a quelling look. ‘I went to see if there were any of these cliff roses he was talking about.’

‘And were there?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Why did he get angry? Because you were trespassing?’

‘Nonsense. I had to get Ariadne’s goat out of there, anyway.’

‘The one that follows you everywhere?’ Penny added innocently. ‘Ariadne was telling us it has fallen in love with you.’

‘That would be just my luck.’ Dora tossed her perfect bronze hair. ‘To be adored by a goat. And she’s even female.’

‘Tsk, tsk,’ Nell reprimanded her. ‘Nothing wrong with that in this gender-fluid era.’

‘So why did he get so angry?’ Penny enquired. ‘Does he think your goddess is going to get in the way of his planning permission?’