Blade nodded. He had the impression, gone immediately, that he had seen this girl before. Or someone very like her. He yawned and clasped his big hands beneath his head. The girl put her toe in his armpit and tickled the black hair.

«You don't shave under your arms.»

Blade closed his eyes. He shook his head. «No.»

She continued to tickle his armpit with her toe. «Do you think it is unmanly or something?»

«No.»

Blade was silent. He kept his eyes closed. He could smell her body, a compound of clean woman flesh and light sweat. She took her toe away and for a moment there was silence.

She said, «You aren't going to go away and let me have this little beach, are you?»

«No.»

«You aren't exactly a gentleman, are you?»

He did not open his eyes, but had to grin. «Sometimes I am. In some matters. Depends on the place and time and the people, and my mood. In this case you are the interloper, not me.»

«Interloper? I like that! Anyway this is not a private beach. Anyone can use it. They told me so in the village.»

Blade smiled. «You have stumbled on the one village in England in which all the inhabitants are idiots. This is a private beach, but they will never admit it. Makes sense, I suppose, from their viewpoint. They are all descended from smugglers. Some of them are still at it, without doubt. I've had the cottage for five years now and they still think I'm with Her Majesty's revenue. A spy. But I do own the beach rights.»

«I came down here because I fancied a swim.» She sounded pouty again. She went on, «Do open your eyes. I can't abide people who don't look at me when they talk.»

Blade opened his eyes. He propped himself up on an elbow. The affair had to be straightened out. Obviously she was not going to go away. He was not quite sure, looking at her again, that he wanted her to. Tomorrow he'd go through the computer. Today was, well, today. And his life of late had been monastic.