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own private platform. Pease's father built the Stockton and Darlington Railway – the first passenger railway in the world.’
‘It's a very good-looking town,’ Tess says, thinking how her own family had so little to be proud of.
‘That's partly because when Pease died in 1881, the Saltburn Improvement Company was disbanded and the town's driving force was gone – so no new features were added and the resort has remained a sort of time capsule, a perfectly preserved Early Victorian seaside town.’
‘Like a living museum.’
‘You should see it in August during the festival – everyone dresses in period costume. Well, not everyone.’
‘Not you.’
‘No, Tess – not me.’
‘I'd like to.’
‘Don fancy dress?’
‘No – see it in the summer!’
‘You should be here over Christmas – there's a tradition of running into the sea.’
‘Oh. Do you do that?’
‘I have been known to.’ He looks at her. She seems concerned. ‘It's not obligatory.’
‘It's just I don't really like beaches all that much.’
Joe continues to look at her; again she is irritating yet intriguing in equal doses. What an odd thing to say – not least on account of her impromptu beeline for Saltburn. ‘Why ever not? And why come here, then?’
‘You said sea views .’ And once again, she's implying that Joe is guilty of misrepresentation.
‘Who doesn't like beaches?’ Joe says because the beach is clearly in view now. The tide is out and the view is stunning: the sand is long, wide and glossy and the North Sea is now licked with silver and scattered with diamonds while the pier marches on its cast-iron trestles almost 700 feet out.
‘Me,’ Tess says. ‘ I don't like beaches.’
Two surfers ride the waves, weaving in around each other like shuttles on a loom. Wolf is at the shoreline already, barking at them but apparently loath to get his paws wet. Joe passes a tennis ball from hand to hand. ‘Coming?’
Tess looks at the beach cursorily. ‘I think I'll stick to dry land. I think I'll explore the town.’
Joe shrugs. ‘I'm going to the bank after I've tired out Wolf. I'll see you back at the house. Can you find your way? It's straight up there. Shit – you don't have keys. Here, take mine.’
‘Say you're back before me?’
‘I won't be. You'll know town inside out in the time it'll take me to walk half the beach. Pick up some milk, would you?’
There's a plunge to her gut as she realizes she has brought no money. Rice cakes, a beaker, baby wipes, nappies, a spare hat, two cardboard books and a squeaky toy. But no money.
‘I left my purse at home,’ she calls after Joe who is already tormenting Wolf by feigning to throw the ball. The wind, though, snatches her words away. ‘Joe!’ He turns and cups a hand to his ear. She pulls the empty pockets of her jacket inside out and gives a mortified shrug. He jogs across the beach back to her, Wolf bounding and lurching and leaping at his arm in desperation for the ball which Joe holds aloft like the Olympic flame.
‘I left my purse at home,’ Tess says when he's close. ‘Sorry.’
She looks acutely embarrassed. Joe throws the ball for Wolf and passes Tess a pound coin and says, don't spend it all on sweets. As he heads back for the shore, he recalls how she said she'd left her money at home . He liked that. Hers are undeniably a rather odd pair of hands – this manicurist with the chipped nails from London – but Joe senses they are a safe pair and that in them, his house and all that is in it will be fine. He can go to France on Wednesday without a backward glance. In fact, he might even head off early. Perhaps tomorrow. See if Nathalie is around.

Chapter Four
Tess kept the pound coin tightly in her hand though it made pushing the buggy awkward. Though Joe had mentioned the pay, he hadn't told her when she'd be paid, but she expected it would be in arrears. Which meant no income for a month. Which meant she really was going to have to phone her sister at some point