Leanne reached for the shopping that was now at eye level, and transferred it into the boat. ‘And I said I’ll do it. I was thinking I could separate the two articles; give you the one outlining the memorial service for this Saturday’s edition, and save the personal stuff for the anniversary issue.’ They had another three weeks until the anniversary. She was prevaricating again.

‘No, we need to get this published quickly.’

Gritting her teeth, Leanne closed the cabin doors to reveal two golden carp on the inside panels. Each scale of the fish on the left-hand door had been painted in exquisite detail and its body shimmered. The one on the right had more of a skeletal form, a work in progress that would never be completed.

‘We have to be the ones to break the story, or someone else will,’ Mal persisted.

‘Yeah, it is a shame about the baby, isn’t it?’ Leanne said, feeling good that she could prick her editor’s conscience even though she had reacted in a similar way.

‘Fuck off, Leanne,’ Mal said, but his humour was improving. ‘This is one hell of a story. You should have told me about it sooner.’

‘Claudia wants the focus to be on other people, not her.’

‘Tough, sometimes the news writes itself. And it’s not as if it’s going to be detrimental to her cause.’

‘We can’t ignore that she was part of the fundraising machine for the restoration project. And she was only there that night at Phillipa’s behest, checking up on staff to make sure they were doing their jobs properly. That won’t go down well with some.’

‘Claudia has been open about the extent of her involvement, and she was pretty low down in the pecking order from what I’ve heard,’ Mal replied. ‘And I know I sound like a broken record, but Phillipa hasn’t been accused of anything specific. It’s a non-issue as far as Claudia Rothwell’s concerned, and I expect your article to reflect that.’

‘Is that it?’ Leanne asked, switching on the uplights that warmed the honey tones of the marine pine lining the walls.