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  ‘She’ll be fine. I expect she’ll sleep for the whole evening. Are we here already?’

  ‘The most convenient – and delicious – restaurant in Campion Bay.’

  Taverna on the Bay had a warm, sunny feel to it even on the grimmest of days, its signage and trim bright yellow and grass green, and this evening it called out to them with its lit, bustling interior. Robin felt her taste buds awaken in anticipation. She pushed open the door, and Stefano, wearing a white T-shirt and faded jeans, held his arms out towards them, his dark eyes twinkling.

  ‘Robin, Robin, always a pleasure. Come for our special night, huh? And Will Nightingale, our newest friend. Do you sing as sweetly? Come inside, please.’ He pumped their hands up and down and kissed Robin’s cheek, before steering them to a cosy table next to the window. It had a white linen tablecloth and blue serviettes, a lit tea light in a blue glass holder. Stefano disappeared and returned a moment later with a jug of water and menus.

  Robin sat opposite Will and pulled her chair in, her foot nudging his ankle. She flashed him a quick smile and looked away. Nicolas was at another table, taking down orders, a second pen sticking out from behind his ear. He was taller than his father, with a toned physique that entirely lacked Stefano’s paunch, but he too was in a white T-shirt and jeans; their unofficial uniform.

  Will poured water into their glasses and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to the elbows. ‘It’s busy for a Wednesday night.’

  ‘It’s very popular. They serve traditional Greek food. Stefano and Nicolas were born here, but they have tons of family in Greece and go back there often. They lay it on a bit thick, but that’s what makes this place special.’

  ‘It was kind of Nicolas to invite us,’ Will said. ‘Me, especially. It’s strange how many people know I’m here, though.’

  Robin laughed. ‘Campion Bay’s not the biggest place, so gossip travels at quite a pace. Besides, lots of people loved Tabitha, so it stands to reason they’d be interested in her nephew turning up.’

  ‘I’ve not surfaced much beyond Tabitha’s house, so far. This already feels like a breath of fresh air, though I wouldn’t have minded a longer walk – I could do with stretching my legs.’

  ‘Did you discover much more today?’ Robin asked.

  It had been two days since he’d been interrupted while showing her the photo album, and she’d been dying for an opportunity to work their conversation back to it, and what he’d been about to show her.

  ‘Do you know what I discovered today?’ he said, grinning and resting his forearms on the table. ‘A whole new cupboard of porcelain sheep.’

  ‘More sheep? Oh, I loved Tabitha’s sheep. When I was little, I’d go round giving them all names. By the time I got to the last one, I’d have forgotten the names I’d given to the first ones, so I would start all over again. I must have driven her mad.’

  ‘She would have loved it. I think after Nigel died she must have been lonely, despite living on such a neighbourly street. Whenever I went to see her, I got the impression she was quite reclusive, didn’t like to go and talk to people in case she was unwelcome. But if they came to her, she’d invite them in with open arms. It …’ He ran a hand over his hair. ‘… It makes the whole business with my dad even more unforgivable. He cut her off completely. If it hadn’t been for Mum going against him to put me in touch with Tabitha, she would have died estranged from her whole family.’

  Robin felt a fresh stab of guilt that she hadn’t seen Tabitha more on visits down from London. ‘You still don’t know why? You haven’t found anything that might explain it?’

  Will shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring the mood down so early on. You won’t let me come out again at this rate. Tell me what’s good on the menu.’

  She wanted to ask more, but Will had closed the conversation down, and Robin realised he probably didn’t want to talk about the house, having managed to escape it for the evening. They ordered a couple of starters to share, a Greek salad and calamari, and then let Stefano choose their mains for them. He brought a carafe of red wine over to the table, pouring it into the glasses with an exaggerated twist. When he’d retreated, they clinked glasses. The wine was thick and syrupy, sliding like velvet down her throat.

  ‘Great calamari,’ Will said, spearing one with his fork. ‘A slice of the Mediterranean in Dorset.’

  ‘Better than cheese on toast?’ Robin asked.

  ‘Never. Though I won’t admit that to Stefano or he’ll start to worry about the competition.’

  ‘I get the impression that Stefano doesn’t worry about much when it comes to his restaurant. I’m prepared to admit it’s better than my cheese on toast, and a hundred times better than my chicken Kiev.’

  ‘Your indoor barbecue?’ Will asked, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘That’s the one. Wasn’t that just before Tim turned up? Did he ever invite you for that drink?’

  ‘He said he was hoping to meet up one evening next week. By then he’ll have something concrete to discuss with me, whatever that means.’

  ‘Oh,’ Robin said, popping an olive in her mouth, trying to swallow it past the lump in her throat. ‘He didn’t say what?’

  Will shook his head. ‘Nope. But it must be to do with the house – maybe some information about the original features, or those professional house-clearers he mentioned. I’m not in a position to discuss any of that yet; there’s still too much to do.’

  ‘You’re going to keep going with the clear-out?’ Robin hoped her relief wasn’t too evident.

  ‘I realised you were right: I owe it to Tabitha to look through everything properly. Besides, I’m enjoying staying at the Campion Bay Guesthouse too much – there’s never a dull moment.’

  ‘Says the man who turned up looking like a shipwreck victim on my doorstep one day, and then preceded to take all his clothes off and wander round my hallway the next.’

  ‘Hey,’ Will said, laughing. ‘You were the one who asked me to get undressed.’

  ‘I was finding you a robe!’

  ‘Your hands were conspicuously empty, I seem to remember. I’m starting to think my original suspicions about fluffy handcuffs weren’t far off, but that you spring it on your guests after you’ve lulled them into a false sense of security with the hospitality, the breakfasts …’ He shook his head, his expression incredulous.

  Robin gasped, feigning horror. ‘I seem to remember you telling me that you never embellished your tours at Downe Hall. Do you expect me to believe that after such a ridiculous leap of the imagination?’

  ‘I never make anything up,’ Will said solemnly.

  ‘OK then.’ Robin pushed her empty plate away and folded her arms. ‘What’s the worst tour you’ve ever led?’

  ‘Do you mean in terms of the guests?’

  ‘Did any of them ever flip out, or walk off, or – I don’t know, heckle you?’

  Will laughed. ‘I love how much faith you have in my ability as a tour guide.’

  ‘There’s no question you’re a brilliant tour guide,’ Robin said, a bit too vehemently.

  Will gave her a curious look.

  ‘I mean, I can see you captivating people, holding their attention …’ She could almost picture the hole she was digging herself into, and cleared her throat as Will’s gaze stayed fixed on her. ‘I know better than anyone that people can be unpredictable, so I just wondered what funny things had happened to you.’

  ‘Well rescued, Robin Brennan.’ He nodded solemnly at her and drummed his fingers on the tablecloth. ‘Right, worst tour. Oh, yes – how could I forget?’ He smiled, his green eyes crinkled at the edges, clearly lost for a moment in the memory.

  Robin felt a flutter of attraction low down in her stomach. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense.’

  He folded his arms on the table and leant forward, so that she caught a hint of apple aftershave. ‘I once had one of the visitors contradict everything I said. Every single fact about the hall. He was walking round with a b
ook on historic houses in Kent, and to each bit of information he would say, “I think you’ll find …” Or, “Actually, it says here …”’ He put on an adenoidal voice as he spoke, and Robin giggled into her wine glass.

  ‘What did you do?’

  Will sighed loudly. ‘I’m not proud of it, I just – it wound me up so much.’

  ‘What did you do?’ she asked again, her eyes widening.

  ‘I took his book off him. Snatched it out of his hands and told him to lead the rest of the tour, because he obviously knew it all so much better than I did. I thought he’d be cross, but he was mortified – he genuinely thought he was being helpful, correcting me. I bought him and his wife afternoon tea in the restaurant afterwards to apologise.’ Will winced. ‘It wasn’t my finest moment.’

  ‘Sounds like he was just keen,’ Robin said. ‘And surely the keen ones are better than the bored ones who trail around looking like they’d rather be anywhere else on the planet? Speaking of historical facts and how trustworthy they are …’ She traced a pattern on the tablecloth with her finger.

  ‘I don’t make them up, Robin, I’ve already told you.’

  ‘That’s not what I was going to ask! I was – I wanted to know about Tabitha’s plaque. The Jane Austen one.’

  ‘What about it? It’s been there ever since I got reacquainted with Tabitha. She was very proud of it.’

  ‘Not everyone thinks it’s genuine,’ Robin said. ‘Some people have suggested that she had it made as a joke, or a talking point for when people knocked on the door.’

  ‘Really?’ Will frowned. ‘Why would she go to the trouble? It was up there before the days of internet shopping, and I don’t think Tabitha even had a computer – we never exchanged emails, and I haven’t found one in the house. I can’t imagine something like that would have been easy to do.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Robin said, feeling a rush of triumph. ‘What would be the point? Molly thinks Tabitha did it as a joke, that there’d be some mention of it elsewhere – in books and on websites – if it was true.’

  ‘What is it with people in this place and making stuff up? I agree my aunt was good fun, but I can’t see her fabricating something like a blue plaque. I knew her for less time than you did, but I’m sure it’s genuine.’

  Robin grinned at Will, feeling a moment of solidarity between them. It was a small matter in the scheme of things, but to find out that he felt the same as she did about something she’d believed in all her life was somehow important. He parted his lips, about to continue, when their main courses arrived.

  ‘Kleftiko for the handsome gentleman,’ Stefano announced, ‘and keftedakia for the prettiest landlady in Campion Bay.’ He placed the steaming dishes on the table, his voice raised to carry above all the other sounds in the restaurant.

  ‘Thank you, Stefano,’ Robin said. ‘This looks delicious, as always.’

  ‘Ah, no problem. You are my favourite guests. Anyone who lives on Goldcrest Road can only be sheer perfection, no?’

  ‘More wine for our favourite guests,’ Nicolas said, coming up behind his father with another carafe. Robin could see he was enjoying himself, whatever instructions Molly had given them being followed with an enthusiasm only Stefano and Nicolas could manage.

  She was sure Will would realise something strange was going on, but she couldn’t bring her gaze up to meet his. Instead, she topped up their wine glasses.

  ‘Later,’ Stefano said, almost bowing at the table, ‘free ouzo and maybe, if you’re lucky, music! I want to hear Will sing like a Nightingale!’ He turned away from the table in a spin, and Robin felt her cheeks burning.

  ‘Wow,’ Will said, once the owners had left them to their meals. ‘They really major on the hospitality, don’t they?’

  ‘It takes a bit of getting used to,’ Robin said, swallowing. ‘But it’s worth it for the food.’

  ‘And, for the record, you really don’t want to hear me sing. It’s a sure-fire way to ruin a great evening, and I don’t think Stefano and Nicolas would appreciate my ability to clear their restaurant in minutes.’

  Robin shook her head sadly at Will. ‘You can try any excuse you like, but if they’ve set their mind on something, it’s pretty much inevitable.’

  The food went down as easily as the second carafe of wine, and by the time they’d finished, Robin’s cheeks were burning from the delicious meal and the alcohol. Will was sitting back in his chair, his green eyes slowly taking in the buzz and chatter of the restaurant. He seemed at ease, he looked ridiculously handsome in his blue shirt with his freckled, flushed cheeks and Robin couldn’t understand why not everyone in the restaurant was staring at him.

  Will insisted on paying the bill, and Nicolas bought his card back with two glasses of ouzo and a third carafe of wine.

  ‘Oh no,’ Will said, holding his hand up. ‘We couldn’t.’ He glanced at Robin and she nodded.

  ‘Not for now,’ Nicolas said. ‘For later.’ He indicated the glass stopper in the carafe. ‘You take our wine, you drink the wine, and then you return the carafe. This way, we know we will see you again soon. And when you do, you will sing for us, Mr Nightingale.’

  He gave Will his widest grin, and Will seemed genuinely taken aback at the gesture. Their goodbye was long, with lots of hugs, back-slapping and promises to see each other again soon. Robin even offered to cook Stefano and Nicolas cheese on toast, a suggestion which, she noticed, Will tried very hard not to laugh at.

  As they stepped out into a clear, crisp night, the burn of the complimentary ouzo working its way down inside her, Robin knew she would have to concede to Molly that, whatever she’d said to Stefano and Nicolas, the evening had been a success. She didn’t feel entirely steady on her feet, though she wasn’t sure if that was the wine or the company. Will might like Campion Bay a little more than he had done before they left, but Robin’s feelings for him had reached an entirely new level.

  As they turned in the direction of the guesthouse, Will put his arm through hers. Neither of them had brought a coat, and the late-evening chill slipped easily through her cardigan. Despite that, when they reached Robin’s front door, she turned in the opposite direction, crossing the road and leading Will towards the promenade. Skull Island was closed, low floodlights highlighting the sculptures of pirates and skeletons. Will didn’t speak as she led him around the edge of the golf course and stopped inches short of the sand.

  Robin shuddered involuntarily, and Will squeezed her arm.

  ‘I’m not cold,’ she said. ‘There’s just something so mesmerising about the beach at night.’

  The rhythmic back and forth of the waves was loud, no sounds of daytime chatter or seagulls to compete with it, the traffic on Goldcrest Road almost non-existent.

  ‘It’s stunning,’ Will said.

  ‘That’s the flower moon.’ She pointed up at the glowing orb of the moon, which cast the beach in a strange, bluish light.

  ‘Flower moon?’

  ‘The full moons have different names every month,’ she explained. ‘Today, the tenth of May, is the flower moon, because it’s the time of year when flowers bloom.’

  ‘Where did you find that out?’

  ‘One of Neve’s astrology books,’ she said softly.

  ‘Who’s Neve? Did she help you with Starcross, if she’s into astrology?’

  ‘A friend,’ Robin said, a lump forming in her throat. She wasn’t sure if it was Will’s presence, his warmth at her side, too much syrupy wine, or just the way the knowledge had popped into her head that had made the emotions come to the surface. ‘And she did help with Starcross, in a way. In lots of ways.’

  ‘The light reminds me of Starcross. The glow of the ceiling spotlights is like this.’

  ‘Do you go to sleep with them on?’ Robin asked, wondering if it was too personal a question, imagining him as he went to bed.

  She felt rather than saw Will nod. ‘It’s funny. I never considered myself as someone who needed a night light, but now – I can’t im
agine falling asleep without them. Does your friend Neve live around here?’

  Robin shook her head. She wanted to tell him about her, but didn’t trust herself to speak without the emotions overwhelming her. ‘She is, was— I knew her in London. It’s getting cold, shall we go back?’

  ‘Sure. This view will still be here tomorrow night.’

  ‘It won’t ever be quite the same though,’ Robin said as they turned and strolled back towards the Campion Bay Guesthouse. ‘That’s what makes it so magical.’

  Robin unlocked the door, let Will in and then shut out the moon and the sound of the sea. Everything was still and quiet, as it had been the night Will had arrived. It was less than two weeks ago, and yet it already felt like she’d been here, in charge of the guesthouse, for much longer. She paused, listening for sounds above them. She had no way of knowing if her guests were in their rooms, but at this precise moment, her mind kept returning to the one unquestionable fact that she was alone in the hall with Will. His green eyes were trained on her, his presence seeming to overwhelm her even more than it had done on that first night, when he was an unknown quantity; a ripple in her perfectly planned opening day. A ripple that kept on rippling.

  Suddenly, even the most straightforward sentence seemed impossible to say. Robin was convinced that whatever came out of her mouth would reveal her thoughts to him. After all the wine she’d had, it might well be her thoughts that tripped disloyally off her tongue. It seemed that Will, too, was stumped for words.

  ‘I’m sorry if—’

  ‘Why does it—’

  They spoke at the same time.

  ‘You go,’ she said, pulling off her heels.

  ‘Sure?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I was just going to say, why does drinking red wine feel like one of those heavy velvet theatre curtains, slowly being pulled down over your brain? I never feel this sluggish when I drink beer.’ He put the carafe of wine on the stairs and leaned against the banister, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.

  ‘Stefano’s wine is particularly thick, though. And fresh air always makes alcohol go to my head, rather than clearing it like it’s supposed to.’