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She laughed, too, because he had and so it was clearly the right thing to do. Inwardly, her mind flicked over the information she had painstakingly memorised. Ruth was a legitimate name for a person. That was why she had made the mistake; the two words were similar, and she had momentarily confused them. She felt huge relief that no irreparable damage had been done.

'Look,' Steve said, 'You can't be heading back to your office, or wherever you're working from, at this time on a Friday. Why don't you let me take you for a drink?'

She put her head on one side, considering, and he thought briefly that she seemed familiar somehow. Had they met before? No, he would have remembered her. Yet there was something about her that struck a chord of recognition.

Then she said, 'Where?'

'Well, I usually go to the Huer's Arms. That's up in the village. Have you been there?'

'No,' she said.

'You'll love it. It's got loads of character, and the beer's good. Come

on — we can drive back in my van.'

Ruth laughed again. 'All right,' she said. 'But I'm buying.'

He wasn't going to argue with that, so he led her up the road to where his van was parked. As they went he noticed a solitary individual, in loose clothes and with long hair escaping from under a floppy sun hat, clambering around among the rocks on the far side of the beach. The tide was coming in, and for a moment Steve's training took the upper hand and he wondered if he should alert the lifeguards. But then he reasoned that they must have seen him for themselves, and anyway the stranger wasn't going very far; in fact he had stopped and was bending over to examine a rock pool. He even had a bright pink fishing net in his hand, so either he had an interest in marine biology or – much more likely – was an eccentric who wasn't too self-conscious to play on the beach as happily as a child.

He dismissed the stranger from his mind. But as he and Ruth walked away, the man on the rocks straightened, watching them go. His eyes were thoughtful. Then he turned away from the rock pool and started back towards the beach.

Victor was gratifyingly goggle-eyed when he saw what he later (and privately) called Steve's catch of the day, and asked with exaggerated politeness what she would like to drink.

'Oh . . . nothing for me, thank you.' Ruth smiled at him, then at Steve. 'I'm on duty.'

'A soft drink?' Victor suggested. She shook her head. 'No, really. Nothing. Thank you. But give Steve whatever he likes.'

Not entirely pleased to have one order where he had expected two, Victor pulled Steve a pint of bitter, and watched as he and the girl went to a corner table where, disappointingly, they could not be overheard. The bar was all but empty this early in the day (the only other customer was a long-haired stranger nursing a ginger beer in one corner) and for the moment Victor had nothing to do, so he resigned himself to desultorily polishing glasses until something happened to make him stop. He only wished he could lip-read.

Ruth bought Steve a second pint, and then a third with a chaser, but when they were finished she said she must be going. He privately hoped that she would accept an invitation to meet him again later, but when he asked she said apologetically that she would be busy tonight. Work to do, a deadline to meet – he knew the sort of thing. Hoping that she wasn't simply making excuses, he persevered and said that he would like to see her again. She hesitated. Then: 'I'd like that, too.'

'Great!' Steve's face lit up. 'How about lunch tomorrow?'

'I ... can't make lunch, I'm afraid. But maybe later? We could meet on the beach.'

'All right. Three-ish?'

'Fine.' She smiled. 'See you then. Goodnight, Steve.'

She held out a hand and he had shaken it before it occurred to him what a strangely formal gesture that was. It also occurred to him, later, that she had offered her left hand rather than the traditional right. Odd. Maybe she was