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brother Logan was also a partner at Blair King. He was gifted, charming and hardworking; he arrived in the office early and left late, as most of them did – but then, Molly could hardly criticise him for that because the term ‘workaholic’ fitted her like a sheer silk stocking.
    He and Molly had played a game once, at some party: ‘Describe your partner in one word’.
    ‘Conscientious,’ Molly had written on her scrap of paper.
    ‘Driven,’ Adam had scrawled.
    And they’d both laughed, wryly acknowledging the truth of their descriptions.
    ‘Right.’ Irritation had crept into Molly’s voice. ‘Fine. Don’t you worry about the arrangements, I’ll manage.’ There was a short pause. Adam heard only the lapping of the waves on the shingly beach and the squeals of the children playing. ‘I know I’m an events manager. I’ve said I’ll organise everything. Just be sure you turn up, and Logan—’ another short pause. ‘For God’s sake bring a nice present. I don’t know! Use your imagination! Okay. Yes. Yes. Bye.’
    It wasn’t until she’d cut the call that she turned her head and became aware of him.
    ‘Oh!’
    He’d never seen her hazel eyes so wide. For a second he thought she was going to scramble up and run away from him again, but she didn’t move.
    He hesitated. ‘May I sit? I’ve just staggered down from some lump over there—’ he waved towards the hills, ‘—and my legs are telling me I’m shockingly unfit.’
    Lump. It was an old joke. The first time Molly had ever climbed a mountain, she’d been surprised at the length of the trudge. ‘Call that a mountain?’ Adam had joked. ‘That’s just a lump.’
    He caught a hint of a smile before she moved aside, shifting her long legs in their skinny jeans to make room for him. She was still wearing Converse hi-tops, he noticed. She’d been welded to them. He scanned the shoes more carefully. They even seemed to be the same pair, grey with white trim and a small stain by the top lace on the right shoe where she’d splashed hot oil one day.
    His wife was a stranger, yet not a stranger. The purgatory of separation niggled at him.
    He crossed his ankles and sank onto the rock.
    ‘I don’t know how you do that,’ she burst out, smothering a smile again.
    ‘Do what?’
    ‘That sitting thing. You know, without losing your balance.’
    Adam leaned back against the rock and closed his eyes. He wanted to look at her. He wanted to drink in every detail, but it was too painful.
    A few yards behind him, a child yelled, ‘You’re horrible , Jason. I’m going to tell Daddy!’
    ‘Tell Daddy what?’ came a man’s voice. ‘No, don’t bother. I have a feeling I don’t want to hear. Come on now, you lot, get your things, it’s time for lunch.’
    ‘Aww.’
    ‘Must we?’
    ‘Can I have chips?’
    Adam opened his eyes a crack and was relieved to see that Molly wasn’t studying him. Instead, she was staring at the children.
    She’d never wanted kids. He’d asked her one day, before they were married. They’d taken a short break to the sun and he’d come out with the question as they sat by the swimming pool at the less than luxurious hotel, surrounded by a squealing, shrieking, yelling crowd of youngsters, whining for ice cream, or pizza, or chips every few minutes.
    ‘God no,’ she’d said, frowning as a particularly large child leapt into the pool and sent splashes jetting across a dozen yards. ‘Can you imagine?’
    It had been an ill-chosen holiday, and if they’d found out anything about each other in those few days it was that package holidays didn’t suit them. Soon they’d both been too busy scaling their respective career ladders to discuss the matter of a family again. And that had been that.
    ‘I’m sorry we startled you last night,’ he said, his voice low. ‘I had no idea you were going to be here, or I would never have—’
    ‘You don’t need to explain.’
    ‘I just wanted you to—’
    ‘Ah, there