The oppressive heat gave a dreamlike feel to the morning. The purple-grey clouds on the horizon seemed slumbering islands, the motionless sea a broad pane of glass, the people on the beach sleepwalkers.

            Half hidden in a rocky cove at the end of the bay, a man of about sixty was digging a hole in the wet sand with a small spade. Progress was slow, the incoming tide hesitant but sufficient to drip into his work. He retreated inside a narrow cave, muttering, ‘Should’ve come earlier.’