‘NAB stands for Normandy-Alderney-Britain. A company called Électricité du Nord is planning to build an electric power line to connect France and the UK and they want to route it through Alderney. It will actually benefit the island in lots of different ways. Cheaper electricity, cheaper internet and a payment of £60,000 a year, but naturally there are some people who’ve decided it’s a bad idea and they’ve been demonstrating against it.’

‘Why?’

She sighed. ‘This is rather difficult for me, Anthony,’ she explained. ‘Colin happens to be the head of the NAB committee that’s been deciding on the issue and so he’s very much at the centre of things. He’s a barrister and he’s also a member of the States, which is what we call the island’s parliament, so he was a natural choice. But it has rather put our heads above the parapet.’

‘And he’s for it?’

‘There was a vote and although it wasn’t unanimous, the committee recommended that we go ahead.’

‘So what is it that people don’t like?’

‘Well, there are some issues.’ Judith Matheson glanced around her as if afraid of being overheard. ‘There will be some local disruption and there are questions over which route the line will take. Generally speaking, people in Alderney are hostile to change.’ As she spoke, she had been looking past my shoulder in the direction of the balcony and suddenly she beamed. ‘Oh, look! Mrs Lovell and her husband are sitting in the sunshine. Why don’t you let me introduce you? She’s a remarkable woman.’

It was obvious that Judith had grabbed the moment to change the conversation, but before I knew it, I found myself being ushered outside.

The terrace ran the full length of the hotel with really lovely views. There was a stretch of wild grass, then a sandy beach curving round in a bay and, on the other side, a rocky hillside with another ancient fort holding its own against an enemy that had never actually bothered to arrive. The only invaders were the clouds, a puffy armada floating across an otherwise blue sky.

Elizabeth Lovell and her husband were finishing their lunch at a table about halfway along. Elizabeth had her back to the sea, but then she had no interest in the view: her round black glasses spoke for themselves and in the loudest possible way, making it difficult to focus on any other part of her face, which was perhaps just as well. She did not look healthy, with pale skin, sunken cheeks, grey lips. Her black hair was tightly permed. Despite the warm weather, she was wearing a long-sleeved dress and a shawl. Her husband – in polo shirt and baggy cotton trousers – was small, plump and bald and was drinking a glass of wine. She had ordered soup. He had been eating lobster. The broken shell and claws were all around him.