‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, ‘I think I must have overdone it between the run and the pool, when I went to my room I lay down for a moment and fell asleep.’

‘You should learn to relax more.’ Amelia waved towards the restaurant. ‘We’d better go in before they give our table away.’

Since the hotel was quiet, unusually so for a bank holiday Sunday, Molly didn’t think there was much chance of that, but she said nothing and followed them from the room.

The food was once again excellent but there was little atmosphere in the half-empty restaurant. Conversation between the three was in brief bursts followed by long periods of silence. Tristan complained about the weather ruining his golf; Amelia gave an in-depth account of her massage, and Molly added a word here and there as required and wished Jack was with her. If he had been, he’d have told some funny anecdotes that would have livened the mood. She missed him.

After coffee, Amelia suggested drinks in the lounge, but Molly had had enough. ‘I’m tired,’ she said, pushing back from the table. ‘I’m going to head to bed. I’ll see you at breakfast.’

Back in her room, she took out her mobile and checked for messages. There was one from Jack. Hope you’re still having a good time. Charlie and I are going to a movie. Chat tomorrow.

A movie! She’d hoped to be able to speak to him and felt a lick of disappointment bring tears to her eyes. Perhaps if she’d told him the truth earlier, he might had advised her to come home, and she’d be there now, with him, laughing about the weekend, putting the young man and his ridiculous eyes behind her. But she hadn’t told him the truth, and now it was too late. She tapped out a suitably vague and ambiguous message. Wonderful, but it’ll be better when I’m home tomorrow.

She wasn’t sure she’d sleep following her long afternoon nap and was surprised to find herself drifting off as soon as her head snuggled into the pillow. But it didn’t last; every creak and whisper of noise woke her to send her tossing and turning in a hunt for oblivion. When the first streaks of light slipped under the curtains, she stopped trying. Her hand stretched out and fumbled to find the lamp switch, eyes shutting tightly when the room was flooded with light. She blinked and looked at her watch. Seven.

She’d half thought about skipping the run, but the one the day before had been so lovely, wasn’t she being a bit silly to deprive herself. It was highly unlikely that the stranger would be there today. Anyway, she’d go the other direction and enjoy the fresh country air before returning to London.