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is excellent, and as you know it’s like swimming in a huge aquarium, surrounded by millions of colourful fish.

      Thanks to your fabulously helpful illustrations, I’ve been able to identify lionfish, trigger fish, blue spotted stingrays, clownfish—and of course our cheeky friend Chelmon rostratus.

      I was so excited when I saw him poking his long stripy snout out from a piece of pink coral! I almost rang you just to tell you. I suppose I felt a bit the way you did the first time you spotted a film star on the King’s Road.

      Honestly, I’ve dived in the Mediterranean and the Red Sea, and I thought those reefs were beautiful, but I hadn’t dreamed the reefs on this island would have so much diversity.

      Using your map as my guide, I’ve now dived in all the main bays—Radical, Alma, Nelly, Geoffrey—and I’ve loved them all. Especially the range of corals in Geoffrey Bay.

      The locals tell me that these are only fringing reefs. If I really want to see something spectacular I should head out to the main Great Barrier Reef. So, as you can imagine, that’s on the agenda now as well.

      I think I’ll catch one of the big catamarans when they’re passing through on their way to the reef. I can’t wait. I might even head north to stay on one of the other Barrier Reef islands for a while.

      Sorry, if I’m sounding carried away, Molly. I think I am.

      Regards

      Patrick

      To: Patrick Knight <[email protected]>

      From: Molly Cooper <[email protected]>

      Subject: Re: Having a good time

      It seems we’re both reaping the rewards of our daring decisions to break our own rules. I’m so pleased you’re enjoying the island’s reefs, Patrick. I got quite homesick reading your descriptions, and I found myself wishing I was there with you, sharing the excitement of your discoveries. Shows how greedy I am, because I wouldn’t want to miss all the fun I’m having here.

      Yes, I know I can’t have my cake and eat it, too.

      But, still … skin-diving with you would be so cool.

      I hope you enjoy your trip to the Great Barrier Reef, or to other islands further north. Don’t go if the weather’s rough, though. I’d hate you to be horribly seasick.

      Cheers!

      Molly

      To: Patrick Knight <[email protected]>

      From: Molly Cooper <[email protected]>

      Subject: Quiet

      You’ve been very quiet, Patrick, so I’m assuming you must have gone out to the Great Barrier Reef, or perhaps you’re exploring further afield. Please don’t tell me you’ve found another island you like more than Magnetic.

      Molly

       Private Writing Journal, Lodon, May 23rd

       I almost didn’t bring this journal back to London, but I threw it in my bag at the last minute because writing in it has become something of a habit. My thoughts (sometimes) become clearer when I put them on paper. So here I am, two days after my mother’s wedding, pleased and relieved that it was the beautiful, emotional and happy event that both she and Jonathan wanted and deserved.

       My duty phone call to my father in Scotland is behind me, so now I’m considering my options.

       To see or not to see Molly.

       To fly straight back to the island, or stay on here in London for a bit.

       The thing is, I’m desperate to call on Molly while I’m here. I’ll admit I’m utterly fascinated by her (and my mother could hardly stop talking about her), but I’m hesitating for a number of reasons.

       1. The Australian boyfriend. It probably sounds churlish, but I don’t think I could enjoy Molly’s company if Brad the sheep farmer was hanging around in the wings.

       2. Our house swapping agreement. I’ve handed over my house for three months in good faith, and if I suddenly turn up on Molly’s doorstep in the middle of that time she’ll be placed in a confusing situation—not sure if she’s my hostess or my house guest. I guess this hurdle is one we could work our way around, but then there’s—

       3. The fantasy date with a gentleman. Here’s the thing: I have the right accent and the right clothes to meet Molly’s criteria, and if I was on my best behaviour I could probably pull off the role of an English gentleman. I could even take Molly on her dream date to the theatre. In fact, I’d love to.

       But—

      Maddeningly, I have a string of doubts …

      • Does she still want that ‘dream’ date now that she has her Australian?

      • Just how perfect does this Englishman have to be? A movie star I am not.

      • What if I try to do the right thing by her, but she misinterprets my motives? Might she think I’m amusing myself at her expense? After all, she’s spilled out her heart to me. She might feel horribly embarrassed if I turned up and tried to act out her fantasy.

       So where does that leave me? I suppose I could arrange to meet her on neutral ground—in a little café somewhere. Or perhaps I should just phone her for a chat. But then I wouldn’t see her, would I?

      To: Patrick Knight <[email protected]>

      From: Molly Cooper <[email protected]>

      Subject: You’re never going to believe this, Patrick!

      I don’t know whether you’re home from the reef yet, but I’m writing this at midnight because I just have to tell you. The most astonishing, amazing, incredible, miraculous thing.

      He … Him … The man of my dreams has turned up on my doorstep.

      The most gorgeous Englishman. In. The. World.

      I hyperventilate just thinking about him, but I’ve got to calm down so I can tell you my news.

      Patrick, I’ve met your colleague—Peter Kingston, who, as you know, has been working in South America for the same banking company you work for. Now he’s back in London for a short break.

      OK, I know you must be asking how I can gush about a new man when I’m supposed to be going out with Brad. No doubt you’re thinking I’m the shallowest and ficklest woman in the entire universe.

      First, let me explain that Brad left last Friday, heading off on another adventure, with no definite plans to come back this way. He’s now somewhere at the top of Norway in the Arctic Circle, looking for the Midnight Sun.

      He wanted me to go with him, but, while I’m sure the sun at midnight is well worth seeing, I didn’t want to spend my hard-earned cash chasing off to another country when there’s still so much of England that I haven’t seen.

      As you mentioned once in an e-mail, the rural parts of England are beautiful. I can’t leave without seeing at least some parts beyond London, so other countries will have to come later.

      Besides, Brad was fun to go out with here in London, but he was never the kind of guy I’d follow to the ends of the earth.

      So, Brad had gone, and it was a Monday night—one of my nights off—and I was having a quiet night in. Oh, you have no idea, Patrick. I was at my dreckest, with no make-up and in old jeans, an ancient sweater and slippers (slippers—can you imagine anything more octogenarian?).

      Worse, I was eating my dinner on my lap in front of the telly, and when the front doorbell rang I got such a surprise I spilled

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