‘Oh, he loves it, but I’m afraid he likes to play it his way,’ she replied. ‘Rascal! Here! Bring the ball.’

Rascal came to within a few feet and dropped the ball on the sand, but as his owner bent to pick it up he seized it and ran off again, then stopped to look back, his tail wagging furiously.

‘You see! He just likes to tease me. He knows I can’t run after him as I once would have done.’

‘Allow me,’ James said. He ran forwards, made a sharp lunge and grabbed the dog by the collar.

‘Oh, be careful!’ May called.

‘Don’t worry,’ the lady said. ‘He won’t bite. He just loves a game.’

James and the dog wrestled playfully for the ball and James won. He straightened up and threw it again, far ahead of them, and Rascal pelted after it with a yelp of glee. He brought it back and dropped it at James’s feet and the wrestling match was repeated, but this time instead of throwing it up the beach James spun round and called, ‘May! Catch!’

The ball hurtled towards her and she instinctively raised her hands and caught it. Rascal was running towards her, but she threw the ball back to James. For several minutes they threw the ball backwards and forwards, while Rascal ran between them, yelping in hysterical excitement. Then May missed a catch and the dog had the ball and raced away with it. James went after him, fleeter of foot then she had ever imagined, retrieved the ball and brought it back to present it to the dog’s owner with a small bow.

‘Yours, I think. I hope you didn’t mind us joining in the fun.’

‘Not at all. Rascal hasn’t had so much exercise for years. He’ll be quite docile now till we get home. Now, I really must be getting back. Rascal! Heel boy!’

To May’s surprise, the dog obeyed and the pair turned back towards the village. She looked at James. He had pulled off his tie and his shirt was open at the neck. His face was flushed and a lock of blond hair had fallen over his forehead. He saw her looking.

‘What? Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘It’s just I’ve never seen you like this before. You look like a young boy.’

He laughed. ‘Well, I’m not quite in my dotage yet.’

‘I didn’t mean that. But you always seemed so … well, so grown up.’

‘Oh dear! Am I such a dried-up old stick? I suppose it’s working in the law. One is expected to exhibit a certain gravitas.’ In response to her look of enquiry he explained, ‘It means being sober and sensible. But it’s only a pretence. How old do you think I am?’

‘I … I don’t know.’