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knows in her heart that Tommy was right and the request was out of order. Still, she wonders how hurt Russ must have been and she feels an odd, foolish desire to reconnect with him, to make up in some way for that earlier decision.
    The boy looked so much like his grandfather, his eager brightness contrasting with the inimical stare and cold, pale eyes of his father. Perhaps, if she hadn’t run away, she could have mended a few fences. She wonders if they are here for regatta; if there is a wife somewhere. Dartmouth is a very small town whose life centres around the few streets just off the Embankment and around the Boat Float, especially during regatta. If they are staying it would be almost impossible to avoid them. Yet an irrational fear remains; it was an instinctive reaction to avoid Jason but she can’t think why. What could he possibly do to harm her?

CHAPTER FIVE
    JEMIMA SITS AT a table in Café Alf Resco, close to the door under the big awning, finishing her breakfast. She likes taking the occasional unscheduled break in the middle of the morning for one of Alf’s breakfasts, but it’s busy today. All the tables outside are crammed with holidaymakers and even inside there are very few spaces left. She’s managed to get the only unoccupied table for two, with the black Lab, Otto, curled in under her feet.
    A tall, dark-haired man turns in off the road, pauses at the door and glances round, and she feels a little shock of recognition. He looks at her and she sees that he is having the same reaction: he raises his eyebrows, smiling a little, and she smiles back at him. He makes a little gesture at the packed café and another at the empty chair at her table and she nods. He goes into the cavernous interior to order and presently reappears beside her.
    â€˜Thanks,’ he says, sitting down. He looks down at Otto and back at Jemima. ‘At the risk of sounding corny, I think I’ve seen you before. At Stokeley Farm Shop, wasn’t it? I remember this fellow. You were with another woman and a little girl.’
    She remembers now; she’d been with Miranda and Maisie. Maisie had been having one of her difficult moments, staring at this man sitting on the sofa, and Miranda had been cross with her. She remembers, too, that she liked the look of him.
    He’s watching her; his expression is friendly, alert. ‘I’m Ben Fortescue,’ he says.
    â€˜I remember seeing you,’ Jemima says. ‘I’m Jemima Spencer. Do you live locally?’
    â€˜Just up in Southtown. I moved down from London at Easter. It’s been a family house for generations so I know the area very well. It’s great to be actually living here rather than just coming for holidays.’
    â€˜I know those houses,’ she says. ‘I work for a company who lets out holiday cottages. We’ve got one in Southtown on our books. Very nice it is too. Is your house beautiful?’
    He nods. ‘It is very beautiful. I’ve always coveted it but sadly it doesn’t belong to my side of the family. Never mind. I can rent it for as long as I need to, so I can pretend.’
    She smiles at him, liking him. ‘I know how you feel. I rented a flat once in Salcombe right on the harbour. Gosh, I loved it. Then I moved to Kingsbridge for a few years but I realized that I am unhappy unless I can see water so now I rent a tiny bit of a cottage at Torcross.’
    â€˜Ah, so you can look at the sea?’
    She shakes her head. ‘I couldn’t afford the sea view. I look the other way, at Slapton Ley. My cottage is built on the back of one of those lovely big houses on the sea wall. But at least I don’t have visitors walking up and down outside my windows all day and I’m safe from the high tides.’
    He laughs. ‘And you haven’t got far to walk to look at the sea.’
    â€˜Not far. And the ley is wonderful.’
    â€˜And the fellow here?’ Ben jogs the