For the umpteenth time that day, it occurred to Grace that she should follow d**k to see if her fears bore any rationality. At the very least, she could be proved wrong and nobody need be any the wiser. So, rushing upstairs to change into a pair of flat shoes, old trousers, a white jumper, dark sunglasses and a plain headscarf, Grace was out through the door five minutes after her husband. She could still see him lumbering down the cliff road towards the harbour and knew that if she walked quickly, she could keep at a safe enough distance to keep him in her sights but remain unobserved. It wasn't long before he stopped to talk to someone at the harbour wall.
Grace sucked in her breath as she watched Sheila Collins grasp d**k firmly by the arm and flutter her eyelashes provocatively at him
