The route takes me through Chiddingfold, with its duck pond and village green. Thatched cottages and Georgian country mansions. Past homes of brick and flint. Past its fourteenth-century wattle and daub pub. Winding through gentle farmland and woods of ancient trees. Northchapel. More brick and flint and characterful pubs. Through dripping valleys of autumnal trees. On to Petworth, the prettiest little market town I have ever seen.

My sat nav guides me to Julie’s new home, in West Wittering, just behind the beach. I ring the bell. The door opens and a tall angular man with jet-black hair stands in front of me.

‘Hi there,’ I say. ‘I’m Saffron Jackson. Here to visit Julie.’

‘I’m Conrad, Julie’s partner. Do come in.’

Conrad? Julie hadn’t told me she had a new man. I wonder if I should breathe a sigh of relief. Does a new man mean she’s not that interested in Miles? Or is she just a man eater? She always banters with Miles when we meet for drinks in the City. Have I been wrong to dismiss this as easy friendship?

She appears, walking towards me, through the hallway, beaming from cheek to cheek. Wearing blue jeans and a fluffy blue jumper with a large white star on. Her shiny hair glistens and her chocolate-drop eyes welcome mine. She hugs me, engulfing me with her trademark Chanel No. 5 scent.

‘Thanks for coming over. We need to talk.’

Panic rises, even though I was the one to instigate this meeting. What is she going to say?

We need to talk. I need to tell you I’m in love with Miles.

Conrad is hovering awkwardly in the hallway. ‘Can I get you anything to drink?’ he asks.

‘I’m fine thanks.’

‘Let’s go for a walk along the beach, and then come back here for supper. You must stay and eat. Conrad’s a wonderful cook.’ Julie kisses him. A short sharp peck. Too plastic. Too platonic? ‘See you later, darling,’ she says.

He disappears upstairs.

Julie and I step along the hallway, through a large dining room into the kitchen where Julie grabs a windjammer and hat from the hooks by the back door. Out into the garden. The salty tang of the sea assaults my nostrils, reminding me of happier times. Of childhood holidays. When life was innocent. Before sex and love and men contaminated it. The wind that is folding the plants to the ground in this well-stocked garden explodes against my face. I look down at the plants and wonder how they survive. Lavender. Salvia. Phormium. Cordylines. They are dry and bent. But alive. We push through the wind across a fragile lawn and step out through the back gate.