‘She said it was private land, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.’

Archie stopped twisting his button and threw up his hand. ‘Oh no! It’s quite all right – I think the fence fell down years ago, never go down that way – most welcome, thank God you were, I’m really so deeply grateful.’

‘That’s all right. It wasn’t anything. Well,’ he put out his hand. ‘I’ll clear off, don’t want everything pinched.’

Archie took his hand, shook it vaguely. ‘No. Well, off you go. I can’t thank you enough, anything you need …’

‘It’s all right if I stay there? For tonight?’

‘Of course! Of course, long as you like. Do. Please. Got a tent thing, have you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Splendid.’ He suddenly looked at Marcus for the first time, and smiled apologetically. ‘What am I thinking about? You must come up here. Masses of rooms, the place is like an hotel… you can’t sleep on the beach.’

‘No, really, I’m fine.’

‘I insist! Come back here. We’ll fix you up for the night. My wife would never forgive me. Of course, you come up here. Go and get your things at once, we’d be delighted, so grateful.’

‘I’m fine, really thanks.’

‘Mr Pollock, you have done us the greatest service, the least we can do is give you a bed for the night. Now I’m going up to see my wife; see you down here, in what?, twenty minutes or so? You know where the drinks are. Off you go.’

Marcus stood for a moment uncertainly. ‘Jeans and a sweat shirt. That’s all.’

‘Absolutely perfect. I shan’t be in tails.’

‘Okay. Thanks. Twenty minutes.’ He turned and crossed the lawns towards the trees.

Archie stood perfectly still watching his retreating figure. The blond head, broad shoulders, long legs. Six foot something. Must be. I know I’ve seen him before. I know I have. I know the face. He bit the side of his thumb thoughtfully. Where? Don’t know the name. Speaks well. Somebody’s son we know? No. No one I’ve met. Just seen him somewhere. In the town perhaps. Was he at the Russells’ last week? Lot of young people there … could have been. He walked slowly across the drawing-room and into the hall as Bruna came down the stairs with Cuckoo’s wet clothing in her hands.

‘She’s in bed. I made her. She’s cold and shocked and very tired.’

‘I’m going up. Poteau’s on his way, tell him to come straight up, will you.’

‘What a thing to do. Down on the rocks; she’s not a girl any longer.’

‘Nothing broken?’

‘She can move everything. She’ll be bruised, you see. She’s so foolish.’