The strange feeling of her personality at the other end of the radio unnerved him. Each nuance was hers, and yet not hers. She was present in the small engine room in a disembodied way, full of tact, irony and sounding genteel.

“That’s for you, I’d warrant,” said the skipper.

“That’s Catherine,” said Jack, disbelievingly.

“The Adams girl?”

“Aye.”

“You have to cherish the ladies,” said the skipper, and he cut the engine.

Theo De Largey and the other fishermen looked in to see what was wrong. The skipper held his finger to his lips. They all moved out of the wheelhouse.

“Jack,” she said, “are you there?”

“Jack Ferris here. Over.”

“When will you be coming in?”

“Friday at eight. Over.”

“Oh. That’s a pity. Did you get my letters?”

Jack looked round and whispered into the mike: “No. Over.”

“That’s strange. You should have had them by now.”

“They haven’t arrived, Catherine. Over.”

“You don’t sound like yourself.”

“Neither do you. Over.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“No,” he lied. “Over.”

“Well, that’s wonderful. You sound very businesslike. Over.”

“Under the circumstances, so would you. Over.”

“Am I embarrassing you?”

Her voice, filled with static, cut through the quiet, while the boat drifted in a calm east wind on a sea that was suddenly without landmarks, on a day that could have belonged to any of the seasons, in a sea that could have been any sea, until the Skegs drifted into sight again. The men smiled at his embarrassment. The feeling he got when he heard her voice was of pride and closeness. That the skipper should cut the engine that Jack might listen seemed a comradely thing to do.

“I’ve made my mind up what to do. I’m sure you’ll be glad to know.”

“You have? Tell me. Over.”

“It’s all in the letters I wrote.”

“But I haven’t received them. Over.”

The radio gave a hoarse crackle. A whistle blew. A sound like a strimmer went through the airwaves.

“What did you say? Can you please repeat the message, Catherine? Over.”

“I can’t hear you properly. I’m going now.”

“When will I see you? Over.”

“I’ll be down next weekend. I’ll leave a letter in the house.”

“See you, then. Over.”

“Goodbye, Jack. Over.”

“Goodbye, Catherine. Over.”

When her call ended, the skipper started the engine up again. They went on. She was never mentioned. It was as if a fantastic sea-animal had been sighted. They had circled it. Then it dived. Then they went on.