Down in the dining room, I pour myself a small amount of cognac to settle my stomach and run my fingers over the spines of the books that line the wall until I reach the doors to the garden. No opportunity has yet presented itself for me to grab a moment with Tom. Outside, the sound of the waves competes with the conversation. During my life I have heard it through the good and bad, the calm and the stormy. A house this close to the sea is constantly aware of its position, proud above the beach, gleaming white. Even on this night of a waning crescent moon, the house glows. If I were on a boat in the bay, I would be able to see it without the lights. It makes its presence felt. At one point during the war the front of the house was coated in cow dung to dim the white and that seemed to work. But tonight the paint is bright and it shines.

On the path across the lawn, Tom is talking with Eddie. He glances my way and then sets off down towards the beach alone. There is no way I can follow him at this point. My duty is to my guests. I won’t be free until the last one has departed or gone to bed.

Mrs Hoskine stands in the French windows of the smoking room. I nod at her and she heads off without a word. I don’t know what I’d do without her. Boskenna wouldn’t work, that is certain. Between her and her husband they kept it warm, dry and welcoming. When we arrived a week ago, I could have wept I was so exhausted. But thanks to the Hoskines, here everything is easy, not like the challenge of life in Moscow where nothing is as it seems. There I am on constant alert, and this weekend it feels like Moscow has crept into Boskenna while I wasn’t watching. But, of course, that isn’t true, I invited it in.

At the time it seemed the only way, but right at this moment I simply want to be a family on holiday, entertaining friends. I want to hold my husband and watch him sleep, peacefully, and I want to build sandcastles and make jam with my daughter. I don’t want to be anything other than a mother and a wife. I laugh. Who would have thought that I could feel this way? Certainly not me.

‘Darling Joan, thank you for such a lovely evening. The food and the company were divine.’ William Parsons grins.

‘A pleasure.’ I smile.

‘So like the evenings your mother used to run here.’ He paused. ‘I didn’t think anyone could live up to her standard but of course her daughter can.’

‘High praise.’

He clasps my hand briefly. ‘We’re off now. Hope to see you in London when you are next back or maybe if you spend Christmas here this year.’

‘That would be lovely. So kind of you to join us tonight.’