The heat was making George drowsy and muddled his thoughts. He stood up quickly and walked back towards the boat. He had wasted enough time. Perhaps the young people would be back from Scotland and he had more questions now to ask them.

He was walking down the lane towards the quay when Charlotte Cavanagh caught up with him. She moved strongly and purposefully, like a man.

“George, my dear. I’m so glad that you’re still here. I was afraid that I’d miss you. I’ve remembered something. It doesn’t look very good for Peter, but I suppose that I should tell you. Peter had a rival in his love for the girl. He used to laugh about it and about how slow and timid this other boy was. ‘She doesn’t even know that he fancies her,’ Peter said to me. ‘And yet he’s so lovesick that he doesn’t think about anything else. Perhaps I should leave her alone, to give him a chance. He’d be better for her than me. But I can’t do it.’ Oh George, I’m sure that the name of the boy was Tom. I’m certain of it. He was a birdwatcher and he was staying on St. Mary’s.”

So the trip had been worth while. He had made the vital connection between Tom, Peter and Sally. They had all been together on the Scillies and they had all been in Norfolk on the day of Tom’s death. For the moment that was enough for him. In the small boat, with the breeze blowing against his face and the low sun reflected on the water, the magic of the Scillies began to work for him again and he was untroubled.

Chapter Twelve

Molly woke to the smell of frying bacon and mushrooms. George was home then. She roused slowly from a deep sleep, comfortable because George was back. He had not come to bed; she hoped that he had slept in the train. He had a remarkable facility for managing without sleep, but she could not understand it, and she was anxious about him. She sat up.

The bedroom was appallingly untidy, furnished from auctions and jumble sales. Her clothes were spilling out of drawers and were piled on the unsteady wooden bedside table, which her eldest son had made in his school woodwork class. George’s wardrobe was firmly shut and his side of the bed clear of debris, but everywhere was very dusty. Molly did not notice. It was never any different. She tried to tell, from the kitchen sounds, if George had had a successful trip. She had learnt to manage his depressions, but she still dreaded them. She dreaded them on his account because of the pain of his self-doubt, his loneliness and guilt, and on her own account, because the effort of getting through to him, to reassure him, drained and exhausted her.

She heard footsteps on the stairs, then the door opened and George was bringing her tea. After all the years of marriage, she was still deeply pleased to see him. He opened the curtains and the sunlight almost blinded her, so that she still could not tell from his face if he was happy or disappointed. He cleared some of her clothes from the table on to the floor, then placed the tea beside her.