Burnham Overy Staithe, Norfolk, UK
She lets him take the lead because this is his moment of bird-stalking, mudflat-walking. Head down, he shields her from the wind as he struts through the marram grass. She is coordinated, as she always is – thankful of the warm hat and the socks she picked out just as much for colour as for comfort.
Later, he will take her out for a meal. They will eat Italian. Carpaccio of swordfish, ravioli stuffed with pumpkin and sage. She will sip Calabrian wine from a tall-stemmed glass while he dwells on the sight of Brent geese in flight.
Tomorrow they will visit an old stately home. She will lead, resisting the urge to handle the ancient tapestries that engulf the walls. He will follow, remembering the silhouette of an oystercatcher in flight.
Later they will eat Chinese. He will toast her with Veuve Clicquot as she tackles her sweet and sour pork with a perfect chopstick precision. He will look at her, noticing the coordinated necklace of tiny pearls and matching earrings, and smile.
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