Nell: How’s the writing going? Are you feeling inspired by your surroundings?
Me: I keep getting distracted by the view and other things.
Nell: What other things? If you mean finding Lionel King, the team are on the case.
Me: You look rather pleased with yourself.
Nell: The Cat and I just enjoyed a delicious breakfast at the hotel followed by a gentle walk on the beach.
Me: The Cat went for a walk?
Nell: No, it went back to its room for a lie down. It doesn’t do walking. I walked back alone.
Me: You did not, Nell. I saw you.
Nell: I don’t know what you think you saw, but it was all perfectly innocent and above board.
Me: And I don’t know what Knitwear Wolf is going to say when he hears about your secret rendezvous with a handsome, if elderly, stranger.
Nell: Stuff and nonsense. He isn’t a stranger. He’s Ozzy and Rupert knows all about it.
Me: Who is Ozzy?
Nell: A mature Labrador and occasional piano player up at the hotel.
Me: I knew it. You can never trust a piano player. Has he been crooning Frank Sinatra in your ear?
Nell: Certainly not. He’s arranged for us all to join him for cocktails this evening.
Me: Am I included?
Nell: Of course you are.
Me: But I don’t have anything to wear.
Nell: Yes, you do. The Cat packed a few dresses, just in case.
Me: I’m not wearing sequins, or a feather boa.
Nell: Good. You’re here as a writer not a drama queen.
Me: How do you know Ozzy?
Nell: He’s a friend of Rupert’s. They play golf occasionally.
Me: I didn’t know Knitwear Wolf played golf.
Nell: That’s not the point. You should stop jumping to conclusions.
Me: Yes. Sorry.
