And arranging breakfast and lunch, and sending Archie off to his bath and then a few moments’ peace with coffee and the other letters which had come while she was away, and the telephone messages which brought her swiftly back to the pleasant trivia of a life she had nearly managed to destroy.

Later she wandered into the circular day room, replaced the letters on her desk, slid just one into the pocket of her skirt, replaced the top on the bottle of vodka which she had opened in such despair and grief only hours before. Or was it really one thousand years ago? Tears of self-pity running; futility, fear. Now banished by self-will.

The sun had risen higher. Across the bay the roofs of the old town glowed poppy red among the white concrete blocks which wreathed them; a fishing boat idled towards the long jetty, its engine put-putting across the still water. A new day. A new beginning. A new adventure. She patted the letter in her pocket. Coincidences, Archie, my dear, are the very facts of life. You can forget about Darby-and-Joaning it into the sunset, as I suggested, a long quiet summer. I’m back in harness and I’m just starting to plan a picnic.

There were palm trees, roses, geraniums and a cactus plant which looked like a large toy rabbit; but the air was heavy with paraffin, plastic and airport music. Not wine, as she had secretly supposed. Perhaps that would come later on the way to wherever Marcus had found: of course, if he hadn’t found anywhere it would be a night in the tent, which she dreaded rather. But one night, then she’d see what she could do to persuade him that a bed was wiser and far more comfortable.

It had been a full flight and there was a big crowd waiting beyond the barrier. People in bright shirts and coloured trousers, brown faces, yachting caps, plastic sandals, everyone laughing, some waving newspapers, calling names loudly; a woman lifted up a screaming child and shook it. And then she saw him, straight as a staff, folded arms, unsmiling, golden in a shaft of filtered sun. He hadn’t seen her, was looking over her head beyond the crowd. She walked slowly towards him, criss-crossed by laughing people and when she was at his side she touched his arm.

‘Here I am.’

‘I was looking for you.’

‘I know. I saw. Under your nose I am.’

He kissed her lightly on the lips, eyes smiling now, bright.

‘Have you been waiting long?’

‘Half an hour, I was early.’

‘I’m not late?’

‘No. On time.’ He reached for the battered hold-all. ‘This all? You’ve no luggage, have you?’

‘No, just that and this.’ She hitched an old army-surplus bag over her shoulder.

‘A good flight?’