She flicked through the pages of the book, then said loudly: “This is really too bad. The log is nearly a week out of date. John should make more effort over things like this.”

Her petulance surprised the others. Usually she tried very hard to be charming.

“Nothing to make a fuss about, surely,” commented Jasmine Carson without looking up from the scientific journal she was reading with the aid of thick-glassed, heavy spectacles. “ I’m sure that the day sheets in the ringing room will be made up. You could always transfer the figures to the log now if you wanted to.”

“Oh, it’s not that important. I just like to see things properly done.”

Her voice was brittle. She looked at her watch. “I want to see Charlie. I don’t suppose I’ve time to go down to the Wendy House now.”

Jerry Packham answered with authority: “I shouldn’t bother Charlie if I were you. There’ll be time for that later.”

He looked embarrassed, as if surprised at his own ability to be forceful. Nick shot a significant, gossip-laden look towards Mark, but Mark did not respond. Nick seemed offended by this lack of response, and with a desire to give offence turned to Paul Derbyshire. With bad-tempered sarcasm he said: “You’ll be available to join the working party to mend the paddock heligoland trap, will you Doctor?”

He achieved his objective. The doctor began to mutter excuses about being very busy, and not being as young as he was. He was notoriously idle.

Nick interrupted brutally: “Don’t worry. I expect Jerry, Mark and I will manage. We usually do.”

Mark usually managed to disperse his friend’s aggression with a joke, a piece of clowning, but he seemed hardly to have heard. He seemed unaware that the others were looking at him, expecting him to work his magic, to form the committee into a friendly, cohesive group. He was small and squat with long arms and a squashed, undefined face, as if the features were moulded from plasticine. He stood abruptly, walked to a window and looked out to the lights on the shore. There was a general sense of disappointment and resentment, as if he had let them down. The silence was broken only by the sound of the tide and the hiss of tillies, then Jasmine Carson said:

“John tells me that he would like to try cannon netting the waders over the tide. I haven’t heard a weather forecast. We’d have to be sure that the conditions are right. John has borrowed the equipment from the North Devon Ringing Group. He says that they have had considerable success, but I don’t know if it’s the right technique for us.”

“For goodness’ sake,” snapped Pamela. “ We’ve got to try something new occasionally. If you had your way we’d still be shooting the bloody birds to identify them.”

Just then the bell rang for the meal. The noise was simultaneously a further jar to strained nerves and a release of tension. Deliberately slowly, they walked together into the dining room.