‘Ah,’ he says. ‘Typical townie. I can help you there.’ He wanders off and comes back moments later with his bowl of water, as yet untouched. ‘I’ll wash your hair for you.’

‘Oh.’ Ooo!

‘Normal protocol goes a little by the wayside on this type of trip,’ he advises me. ‘Take off your shirt.’

Gulp. I take off my shirt, leaving on my sleeveless tee-shirt underneath. In the villages it’s polite for women to cover their legs and arms, but in the camp, where standards are more relaxed, it’s possible to have knees and elbows on show. The breeze feels good on my skin. We’re higher here—the air is thinner and much colder. I hand Dean my eco-friendly, bio-degradable shampoo, which doesn’t smell nearly as nice as my usual rose-petal aromatherapy stuff at ten quid a bottle. Kneeling down, I bend over the bowl. Dean pours water over my hair, followed by shampoo and then slowly starts to massage my scalp with fingers that are clearly designed for the job.

‘Does that feel good?’

‘Mmm.’ I try to sound appreciative, but not as if I’m really getting off on this—which, of course, I am! I have a horrible feeling that somewhere along the line in the last four years, Jake and I simply ceased to touch each other. Was that all to do with the mechanical process of trying for a baby, or had we stopped touching before that? Jake has never shampooed my hair and has never shown the slightest inclination to do so. Is that unusual? I think we missed out. At this moment, shampooing has taken on a very sensual turn. Didn’t Robert Redford wash Meryl Streep’s hair in Out of Africa?—if he didn’t, I’m sure he should have done.

‘Enough?’ Dean asks.

It seems improper to suggest that he might like to continue for another hour or two. I wonder if I could persuade him to massage my feet. ‘Yes, fine. Thanks.’

He rinses my hair and hands me a towel. I feel slightly dizzy. It may be the altitude or it may be that I’ve been bending over, but I’m not so sure.

Dean smiles. ‘I’ll see you at dinner.’

I look out over the camp, trying not to watch him as he returns to his own tent. At the end of the row, I see Saffron struggling to wash her hair. I might go over and offer to help her—and call me a selfish old cow, but I’m quite glad that Dean didn’t.

Chapter thirty-nine

Chapter thirty-nine

Edie opened the door and looked surprised to see Jake standing there.

‘You are such a muppet!’ she said to him with an exasperated puff.

‘Nice to see you too, Edie.’ He dug his hands deeper into his pockets and let his lip droop lower. ‘Can I come in?’