“Don’t go getting a big head about it,” Ben warns quickly. “After all, compliments are part of the whole wooing thing. I’m contractually obliged to produce them. I’d be more than happy to sit here and list all your flaws, but that wasn’t part of the deal.”

“The feeling is mutual,” I say, but I’m smiling. Even if the compliments are just part of the experiment, they’re still nice to hear.

“Good.” Ben clears his throat.

I am distracted from whatever he is going to say next by the now-familiar song of the hoopoe. Then, suddenly and without ceremony, the bird I’ve been so desperate to see lands on a nearby branch, fluffing out its soft peachy feathers, the long black and white crest fanned out impressively on its head.

“Look, Ben!” I exclaim, pointing.

My sudden movement must come as something of a surprise. He tips backwards, there’s a bit of comic arm wheeling as he hangs, suspended for a second on the edge, and then Ben finally goes head over heels, falling into the fountain with an almighty splash.

I leap to my feet, dodging the tidal wave that his impact sends crashing towards me. Ben emerges from the water, spluttering indignantly, his face a mask of outrage.

“Oh dear,” I say.

He stays where he is, sitting in the fountain, blinking at me for a moment. Rivulets of water stream from his hair and he pushes it back and away from his face.

“Let me guess,” he says finally. “There was a dragonfly?”

“Oh no,” I say quickly. “A hoopoe, Ben, look!” I turn, but the bird has flown away. “Oh.” I frown. “You must have scared it.”

“How thoughtless of me,” he mutters.

“I don’t suppose you did it on purpose, but really, Ben, you are quite clumsy.”

Ben glares at me. “I wasn’t clumsy before I met you.”

“I hardly think you can blame that on me,” I say. “But if your balance is off-centre, perhaps there’s something wrong with you, medically speaking. You should get that looked at. Unsteadiness can be a symptom of many different things. How are you feeling?”

“How am I feeling?” Ben muses, lifting a hand to rub his chin thoughtfully. “How do you think I’m feeling, Bea?”

“Quite damp, I should imagine,” I say, trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

Ben pushes himself to his feet in one swift movement and, like a sea creature emerging from the deep, he sends another wave of water crashing against the edge of the fountain.

“Now, Ben,” I say coaxingly, “don’t be cross. Look, I saved the most important thing.” I hold out my hand to reveal his book, slightly damp but mostly unharmed.

Ben pauses, looking from my face to the book in my hand. “You,” he says, almost to himself, “are the strangest person.”

“Extraordinary,” I remind him. “You think I’m extraordinary.”