Later, in the cool of the late afternoon, walking down the long curving drive to the shaded courtyard with its green lawn, the pool, the Triton blowing water, a soft breeze frilling the heavy banana leaves, the heat and irritations of the day slid from them both gracefully. He reached out and took her hand and they smiled at each other with tight new shining red faces.

‘This is better, isn’t it? I mean all this …’ He waved his free hand across the brilliant grass, the darting fish, the shadowy arches, mossed stones.

‘Much,’she said.

‘It’s rather funny along there. The coast … we’re not used to it really. A bit of a surprise, I think. But we’ll find our feet; after all, it’s only two days. Perhaps tomorrow we should try going beyond La Napoule … to the rocky places.’

‘Yes. Yes, we could. We could try that.’

‘Or unless …’ He kicked a pebble; skittering across the shorn grass, it plopped into the pool. ‘Unless you’d just like to stay here. Be quiet. Stay put?’

‘Put? What is put?’

‘Well, here, by the pool. Stay here.’

She shrugged. ‘If you like. I don’t mind. Perhaps it would be lovely at the rocky place … perhaps we should go and see?’

‘Whatever you say.’

‘Well, it’s just that I like to lie in the sun, quite alone, except for you … and not think or hear anything. Everywhere seems so crowdy, you know?’ They were crossing the gallery towards the terrace. ‘We could never put up the tent at places like those today, could we? There isn’t any room. Where could we put up a tent, Marcus?’

‘I don’t know. I thought there would be somewhere … a camping site, something.’

‘Nothing. Well, perhaps tomorrow at the rocky bit. Shall we see?’

‘Or stay here? Which? I don’t mind. I mean there’s the pool here, sun …’

‘All right.’

‘I mean, it does seem a bit silly, doesn’t it? Perhaps just one day here, shall we? Or would you rather try along the other end of the coast, where we haven’t been yet? Monte Carlo. Menton … go along that way for a change? Or where?’

The terrace was deserted, shaded, the fountain bubbling softly, a bowl of full blown roses, deep cane chairs, in a bucket a bottle of Laurent Perrier, a neat white cloth about its shoulders, two glasses; moisture beading.

Leni dropped the Army Surplus into a chair, shook off her sandals with a quick flip of her feet.

‘Here,’ she said and ‘dwindled’ in acceptance.