James remembered the stencilled letters on the packing crates that he had seen the other night. MM. He wanted to know more, but now wasn’t the time to ask questions. He smiled politely and sauntered off down the street as nonchalantly as he could, aware of the man’s stare following him to the end of the road.

‘Oh, but that sounds like an excellent idea!’

It was three weeks later and James was on long leave. He was free from Friday morning to Monday night. A lot of the other boys were up at Lords for the annual Eton versus Harrow cricket match, but James had taken the opportunity to get away from anything to do with school – in particular the stifling uniform and the top hat. He had gone home to his aunt’s cottage in Kent where he could happily spend the weekend sunning himself in the countryside wearing his comfortable old shirt and trousers.

He and Charmian were eating a picnic lunch outside in the shade of an old apple tree and James had mentioned that he might be interested in joining Haight’s expedition to Sardinia.

‘You could spend the start of the hols here with me before I leave for Brazil,’ said Charmian, cutting a slice of pork pie. ‘Then ship out with Mister Haight. How long is the trip?’

‘Three weeks, I think,’ said James. ‘Though I’m not sure I want to spend all that time tramping round ancient ruins.’

‘Well, stay with the school party for as long as you can bear it, and then peel off to your cousin Victor’s in Capo d’Orso. I’m sure Mister Haight wouldn’t mind. You could stay with Victor until the end of the holidays.’ She handed James a plate of food. ‘There,’ she said. ‘We have it. A plan. It’ll do you the world of good to get away from dreary old England.’

‘I suppose so,’ said James. ‘I can’t say I’m that interested in Nuraghic monuments, but Mister Haight’s good fun and one of my friends will be going. Are you sure that Victor will have me, though?’

‘You’ve stayed with him before, haven’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said James. ‘But that was years ago. At his old house in Italy.’

James couldn’t remember much about his cousin, who was a lot older than he was, so that James thought of him as more of an uncle.

‘Well,’ said Charmian, ‘from what I hear, he’s getting more and more eccentric in his old age. But I’ll write to him and see what he has to say.’

‘OK.’ James smiled and took a sip of water. ‘Aunt Charmian,’ he said after a short pause, ‘you know a bit about tattoos, don’t you?’

‘Tattoos? Yes. A little. Why?’

‘It’s only that I saw a man in Eton with some and I was curious about them. Do you know what a tattoo of the letter M would mean? Two Ms. One on each hand.’

‘Not off the top of my head,’ Charmian replied. ‘Could be the initials of almost anything. Or the number two thousand.’