‘Yes,’ she chuckled. ‘As in that. It’s short for Isobel. With an “o”.’

‘Boll.’

She laughed at the joke, feeling the awkwardness of yesterday’s encounter begin to dissipate. He might have been a reluctant hero, but she supposed she’d hardly been the sympathetic damsel in distress either, indignantly demanding he give up the trike as her arms almost gave out.

A breeze rippled over her and she shivered, her little sundress not such a great idea after midnight.

‘You can come and sit in here if you like,’ he offered, nodding towards the bench opposite his. ‘I promise I’m not a serial killer. It’s a lot warmer down here, out of the wind.’

‘Is that why you’re here?’ she asked, deliberating for only a moment before getting up and jumping onto the boat. It was one of the less glamorous ones in the marina. Most were navy-bellied gin palaces with white leather and drinks cabinets. This was an early eighties cabin boat with yellowing paint, upholstered in a shocking green-and-white zig-zag cloth that seemed to have been inspired by Culture Club, and it would be good going if it had a first aid kit on board. ‘Keeping down, out of the wind?’

‘I’m keeping my head down in every sense.’ He drank some more of his beer.

‘Oh dear. Did you upset your wife or something?’

His gaze was direct, flashing on her like a torch beam. ‘My wife?’

‘Yeah, the dark-haired lady I saw you with earlier . . .? You said you were with your family.’

‘I was.’ A small smile flickered on his lips. ‘She’s my sister.’

‘Aaah!’ She couldn’t quite contain the happy relief that statement brought her – he wasn’t married! – and she quickly drank some more. There was nothing else to do, and she needed to distract herself from that face.

He watched her fidget nervously. ‘You’re not from here.’

‘Nope. I’m English.’

‘Your Swedish is excellent.’

‘Thank you. Swedish grandmother.’

He nodded.

‘Do you speak English?’ she asked.

‘Only when I’m trying to impress beautiful English girls,’ he said in faultless English, no trace of an accent.

‘Oh my God, you speak it better than most of the English!’ she laughed.

‘As I understand it, so do most Swedes . . .’

She laughed. ‘Hmm. You’re not afraid to be controversial, I see.’

‘It would be very dull to be otherwise, don’t you think?’

Her eyes met his for a moment, and she felt a charge between them. There was definitely something there, a chemical attraction that seemed to have ignited a spark. ‘So have you ever been to England?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where?’

‘Cambridge. I worked there for a short time.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Oh, a bit of this and that. Some bio-engineering.’

‘Some bio-engineering. Huh.’ It didn’t sound like something people would dip in and out of. ‘Did you like it there?’

‘Cambridge? Sure. The university’s so beautiful.’

‘It is, isn’t it?’

‘Did you go there?’

‘Who, me?’ she laughed. ‘Oh no. I didn’t go to uni full-stop.’ She shook her head, a large dot of pink staining her cheeks. ‘I didn’t get the grades, sadly. I had a place to read geography at Manchester.’ She forced a smile, not wanting to remember any of that time now, either. ‘But it just wasn’t to be. Not the path for me.’