‘You start at one end, I’ll do the other,’ she said briskly, hoping to overcome her fear by being extra practical. She sometimes tried this trick when she had to speak in front of the other more senior architects at the firm, or present a particularly audacious modern piece of design. She would simply be even sharper, cutting away any room for doubt or nervousness. She would pretend she wasn’t able to feel things like that. She would build a barrier between herself and any distracting emotions.

They worked in silence for a while and Elle wished she was less conscious of Rob’s presence. She could hear him working, sometimes humming snatches of tunes under his breath, like Ned did.

It had felt so natural to have him at the table tonight. Paradoxically, the very ordinariness and comfort his presence provided made her feel awkward all over again. What was that look he gave her earlier today at the beach? Did it really indicate what she thought, that he still had feelings for her? It had been so many years.

But of course she shouldn’t take anything for granted. Elle couldn’t tell if she was still angry at him for what he had said yesterday about her being unlovable, or if he was still angry with her for suggesting the same to him. It was true that when they were young she had often known what he was thinking. But he would open up, and then shut himself away again, as though scared by what he had revealed to her.

Elle couldn’t blame him, she sometimes felt that way herself.

She started to think of the story her dad had told at dinner. It was nice to get a glimpse of the past from his eyes. Everything she knew about the hotel’s early days, or indeed her own early days of childhood, had been told to her by Anna, who spoke in general terms and often missed out the details that really gave a story life.

Elle was sorting through a box of old bronze ornaments, quite hideous really, but perhaps worth something, when she was confronted by a heart-stopping sight. Someone’s face, pale and bruised, was sitting heavily in her hands. She screamed and threw the object away before she realised that she had been holding a mirror. Rob was by her side in seconds, his hands on her arms.

‘What is it?’ he asked, concerned. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing,’ said Elle, shakily. ‘It was stupid, I picked up a mirror and saw my own face. I didn’t realise . . . I was thinking about your . . . ghost story.’

He laughed gently. ‘Oh Elle, I’m sorry. It was just a story.’

They looked at the shards of the broken mirror, glinting on the floor.

‘Seven years’ bad luck,’ she said.