JENNY arrived at Guy’s guesthouse the next morning wearing clothing that said very clearly she was there to work. Plain white shirt, knee-length skirt, plain sandals. Guy emerged dressed in fawn chinos, a lovely soft green polo shirt with a tiny white yacht embroidered on the chest-Jenny bet it had to be the logo of the world’s most exclusive yacht club-and faded loafers. He looked at what Jenny was wearing and stopped dead.

‘The Carver corporation has a dress code,’ he said.

‘What’s wrong with this?’

‘It’s frumpy.’ It was, too. In fact, Jenny had worked quite hard to find it. There’d been an international lawn-bowls meet in Sandpiper Bay two years ago, and she’d helped organise the catering. The dress code for that had meant she’d had to go out and buy this sophisticated little outfit, and she hadn’t worn it since.

‘It’s my usual work wear,’ she lied. ‘Yesterday I was too casual.’

‘We were both too casual,’ he agreed, and she blushed.

Right. Get on with it.

‘So where do you want to start?’

‘I’ve come here to plan the refurbishment of the salon.’

‘That’s important. But there’s the little manner of two weddings…’

‘Leave the planning to me,’ he said, and she subsided into what she hoped was dignified silence. She was this man’s employee.