I’d been staring steadfastly ahead as they walked, but now I turned to look at him.

‘Really? How do you mean?’

A powerful blush spread over Marlon’s freckly cheeks so that his skin clashed violently with his hair.

‘Oh, I probably shouldn’t say,’ he muttered. ‘Biting the hand that feeds me and all that.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I said, nudging him gently in the ribs. ‘Who am I going to tell?’ I waved my arm in the general direction of all the anonymous people on the beach. ‘Go on, Marlon. Spill.’

He shrugged. ‘I’ve probably got him all wrong,’ he said, ‘but he likes to play the lord of the manor. Lady H is lovely and Clio . . .’ he smiled, and his nose crinkled. He was quite cute, I thought, if you looked beyond his ridiculous hair. ‘Well, you know her. She wouldn’t harm a fly. But Hector . . .’ His face darkened as he said the name. ‘I mean, I know his dad just died but still . . . He’s got no class, you know?’

I didn’t know. In fact, I had no idea what he was talking about. They all had class, surely? I shrugged and shook my head.

Marlon paused for a moment, like he was thinking how he could explain what he meant without being unnecessarily harsh.

‘He’s a bit flash,’ he continued. ‘I mean, they’re loaded and all that, but when you look at Lady H, well, you can see that she’s not stony broke, but you wouldn’t know she was loaded, either. Hector wears a Rolex, drives an Aston Martin, no doubt has a tailor in Savile Row. You get the picture? Not that there’s anything wrong with that,’ he added quickly. ‘He can spend his money on whatever he wants. He’s just a bit brazen with it. And on top of that, Lady H has handed the running of the estate over to him, which has just made him worse because now he thinks he’s the boss on top of everything else. He’s just . . . well, like I said, he’s a prat.’

‘It’s weird, isn’t it,’ I said thoughtfully, ‘how brothers and sisters can be brought up in exactly the same way, and then turn out totally different?’

Marlon nodded. ‘I’m nothing like my brother. I’m hot and he’s a worm.’

He grinned at me to show that he was joking. He wasn’t hot – not even vaguely – but he was sort of attractive, in an oddball, gingery kind of way.

‘I’m loving the modesty, too,’ I said with measured sarcasm.

‘Modest is my middle name,’ he said. ‘How about you? Are you like your siblings?’

‘I don’t have any,’ I said. ‘I was the apple of my parents’ eyes and they clearly felt that as I was so totally perfect, they didn’t need to make any more.’