‘I think,’ Rachel told him, ‘that you really need to establish some boundaries where your ex-wife is concerned.’

‘Believe me,’ he said. ‘I know. Maybe while we’re up there on the coast I can conveniently drop my phone in the sea and just not tell her my new number?’

She’d laughed at that.

‘Are you sure you don’t fancy a trip away from the lighthouse?’ Toby asked. ‘When was the last time you got out of the village?’

Rachel had considered and realized that the furthest she’d been for at least six months was Great Dunbar. This came as a shock – there had been a time when her life had been a constantly changing sequence of different places. She’d liked that aspect of her transitory life, her constant observation of different landscapes, not to mention the knowledge that tomorrow she could move on and leave whatever worries had accumulated in a place behind with it.

‘You’re right,’ she said, before she could say no a second time. ‘I’d love to come, thank you.’

It had been the right decision. They’d talked and laughed, and for the first time since Cullen’s death and the conundrum of the camera obscura, Rachel realized that the worries that accompanied all her days had receded into the background, at least for a while.

‘I haven’t asked you how the book’s going recently,’ Rachel said, as the waitress arrived with their dessert.

‘Well, I’ve written about forty thousand words so far,’ Toby said, ‘and I suppose the good news is that about five thousand of them aren’t entirely terrible.’

‘I’m sure it’s far better than you think it is. Have you let Sylvie see it yet?’ Rachel asked, and then laughed as he gave an elaborate mock shudder.

‘God, no.’ A slight frown settled on Toby’s face and he picked up his fork, toying with it despite his dessert being long since finished. ‘I think one of the problems is knowing that if I do actually do this – if I do actually write my memoirs – I’m going to have to write about something I’ve always avoided putting down on paper. I just don’t know how I’m going to do that, or if I will ever want to. But without it, it’s incomplete.’ He seemed far away for a moment. ‘It’s something that happened right at the beginning of my career. I’ve been trying to put it into words for literally years – decades, now, actually. And the fact that I’ve never been able to…’ he stopped.

‘Tell me now,’ she said. ‘Tell me about it now, in exactly the same way as we’ve been talking about nothing all evening.’

He looked at her and then at her empty coffee cup. ‘Let’s walk some more,’ he said. ‘I’d like to see the village one more time before we leave, wouldn’t you?’

Outside, the wind had turned brisk and the tide was in, rolling high against the sea wall that formed the only path through the village. The sun was dropping towards the horizon, burnishing the steep cliffs and the flashes of the sea birds’ wings as they swooped and dove above their heads. Toby was quiet as they passed the tiny cottage on the sea wall called the Fishergirl’s Luck. Eventually they reached the two benches set against the cliff right at the end of the village and sat looking back along the path, with Gardenstown spilling down towards the water across the bay.