He looked up and squinted at her. Damn. This wasn’t going to be easy. She needed to apologise, but she also wanted to know what the hell he was doing here at Boskenna working in the kitchen garden. Where to start?

‘Lottie.’ His voice had become deeper since she’d last seen him. Back then he’d been twenty, lean and fit as hell, but now the promise of youth had been fulfilled and then some. Her mouth dried. She couldn’t still be attracted to him, not after all this time, but her body was telling her years made no difference. She was standing in front of her first love and her body remembered each and every caress, whether she wanted it to or not. This was not convenient. Her focus must be on Gran and Gramps not on her romantic history.

He turned the tap off and put the hose down. ‘Your grandfather mentioned he’d called you.’ He walked towards her but stopped just short. This was awkward. How did she greet him after all these years . . . a handshake?

‘Yes, this morning.’ She looked down.

‘She’s been ill for a while.’ He turned from her, giving her his back.

That said it all. She’d been too self-absorbed. ‘How long?’

‘There’s been a sharp decline these past few weeks, but it’s been months.’

She should have known. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, trying to think clearly.

He picked up the watering can. ‘Where have you been? They needed you.’

‘I didn’t know.’ She clenched her fist.

He looked up with a dismissive glance. ‘You haven’t changed then?’

That wasn’t fair. Alex gave her one last look then walked away. She found her voice. ‘What are you doing here?’

He looked over his shoulder. ‘I would have thought that was obvious.’

‘Yes, that might be, but why isn’t?’

‘I moved back and one of the first things I did was visit them.’ He pulled out a weed. ‘It was clear they needed help, so I moved into the caretaker’s cottage to be close at hand.’

Ouch. There was no reply to that, so she took a step back. She should have known this, but she hadn’t. She held her breath for a moment then fled before he could say anymore. Yet again she was at fault, but then she was always misjudging things.

8

Diana

3 August 1962, 5.15 p.m.

The sun had disappeared, and her stomach growled loudly. Diana hoped Daddy heard it. He’d said he’d help Mr and Mrs Venn set off then he would come up to the house with her. But they’d been here ages and Daddy was just holding the Venn’s boat and talking and talking. She was tired of the Venns and she wanted time with Daddy on her own. She’d had to share him with them every day for over a week and now they were taking him all to themselves again. It wasn’t fair.

She picked up a mussel shell and moved it so the colours inside changed. Every so often she heard a word. Meeting. Deliver. Urgent. They were almost whispering but the breeze brought their secrets to her. She loved secrets. Mummy and Diana played the secret game all the time. Mummy said living in Moscow made secrets important. Things had to be kept tucked away, just like the little Russian dolls hidden inside the biggest one. She’d brought her dolls with her to Cornwall and had set them on her windowsill so they could see the sea. They had never seen it before, only the Moskva. Diana liked saying Moskva. It rolled off her tongue like when she said her piano teacher’s name, Madame Roscova. She could roll her Rs but Daddy couldn’t. Mummy was very good at hers. Diana had heard her reading aloud from a Russian book. It was called War and Peace.