I don’t deny it would be a challenge; only that having got things so Horribly Wrong already, they might, if one were in a hopeful mood, mend a bit.

Harriet, whether worried for herself, or feeling rather guilty about Peter (the Horrible Mistake having been her idea, after all, though he failed to fend it off adequately), phones him with a “There’s a corpse on the beach, thought you might be interested” brisk professionalism. He turns up, is v. man to man and impersonal, until they realise discussing it all over liqueurs in her hotel bar, that they are actually having a pleasant evening and a tentative pick up of friendship again. Perhaps. I’m soppy really.