The woman quickly wrapped it and put it on the counter and I looked at the rest of the array that was on offer. I wasn’t sure I wanted anything else, for a start I wouldn’t have a clue what to do with half it, but then I spotted the cockles tucked to one side.

‘And some cockles, please,’ I smiled, remembering how my parents used to recoil as I munched my way through them.

There was something moreish about that salty, slightly grainy texture that I had always found irresistible, especially when splashed with vinegar.

‘How many?’

‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I’m not sure.’

There were some old-fashioned pint glasses sitting next to them.

‘Half a pint?’ The woman suggested.

That sounded like quite a lot, but then I did like them.

‘Yes, please,’ I said, ‘and I better have a bottle of vinegar too.’ I added, having spotted the condiments on the shelf behind her.

‘Wonderful,’ she grinned. ‘You can’t beat them with a drop of vinegar.’

I fondly recalled the little polystyrene pots and wooden forks I used to spear them with and smiled back.

‘Are you here on your holidays?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ I said, pulling out my purse. ‘I’m renting Crow’s Nest Cottage next to the pub.’

‘It’s a bit quiet around here,’ she said, ‘but ideal if you’re looking for a peaceful sort of getaway.’

‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘Although,’ I added, throwing caution to the wind, ‘according to the landlord at the Smuggler’s, it might not be all that quiet next weekend.’

‘Oh?’

‘Apparently, there’s going to be some sort of entertainment in the pub.’ I elaborated but didn’t go as far as to explain my involvement in it all.

The woman looked unsure.

‘Oh, I doubt that,’ she said.

‘That’s what he told me,’ I said.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive,’ I nodded.

‘And it was Sam you spoke to?’

‘That’s right,’ I confirmed. ‘The chap who owns the pub and cottage.’

‘The fella with the gorgeous green eyes?’ she questioned, just to be sure.

‘Oh yes,’ I said, sighing without meaning to, ‘that’s definitely him.’

‘Well, I never,’ said the lad who was serving next to her. ‘That’s a bit of a turn-up for the books, isn’t it, Mum?’

‘That it is,’ she frowned. ‘The Smuggler’s isn’t known around here for offering anything much beyond a decent pint and the board game club. Sam keeps himself to himself as a rule. Always says he’s got no interest in putting on anything extra.’

Given what Sam had told me, I knew the situation was more about finding the time to do things properly than guarding what little privacy his position afforded or lack of interest on his part. I wondered if everyone in the village had got the wrong end of the stick and, if so, why had he let them?