She wasn’t short of other offers for dates, but they were usually pimply boys of her own age, chain-smoking and desperately trying to look older by attempting to grow ridiculous moustaches. Somehow none of them matched up to Billy Bishop for glamour. Joan was no fun any more; she seemed to spend every evening and weekend with Sam, and many of their other friends had left the town, either for college or for work. Some had even got married and were already producing children.

There must be more to life than this?

The ferry had just cast off from the Felixstowe side when she caught sight of a slight figure running down the shingle, clasping a shopping bag.

‘Look out, Charlie,’ she said. ‘You’ve got another customer.’

‘Ruddy hell,’ he muttered, crashing the engine into reverse and swinging the boat around against a fierce tide.

As they crunched back onto the shingle she recognised the figure at once: it was Vic Mackensie.

‘Thanks for waiting,’ he panted, clambering into the boat. He missed his footing, dropped the bag and almost crashed into Kath before steadying himself with a hand on the gunwale. As he sat down, flustered and apologetic, she saw that he’d misjudged the waves.

‘Hello again,’ she said. ‘Been enjoying the delights of the Felixstowe shops?’

‘Oh, just a few little things,’ he said, with an embarrassed shrug. ‘Sorry to hold you up.’ He peered down at his soaking shoes. ‘Not sure how I manage it, but I do it every time.’

‘Takes great skill,’ she said, and was rewarded with a smile.

When they arrived on the other side he climbed off first and offered a hand as she jumped down onto the beach.

‘Thanks,’ she said, leaping well away from the water’s edge. ‘Watch your feet,’ she called, dragging him away from the tideline.

‘I’m already so wet it doesn’t matter,’ he said, laughing. ‘I’ve just bought myself some more socks anyway.’

They began to walk together, past the guardhouse and through the whispering pines. ‘It’s got a sort of magic, this place, don’t you think?’ she said. ‘As though it’s hiding secrets?’ Secrets. What an idiot. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean . . .’

‘No, I know . . .’

‘I’m sorry . . .’

‘It’s nothing.’

They reached the front of the Manor. ‘I have to go this way.’ She pointed to the gate leading to the rear entrance.

He paused. ‘I wondered . . .’

She waited.

‘Ermm . . . you know . . . when we met before?’

She shuffled her feet, conscious that she was already late.

‘I mentioned the gardens?’

‘Yes, you told me they were rather beautiful.’

‘They’re not in full flower yet, of course.’

‘I’m sure, but look . . . I’ve got to get to work.’

‘Of course, of course,’ he said, face down, shuffling his feet. And then, ‘I could show you later, perhaps?’

‘I don’t get off till five.’