They sat together around one long table. John and Elizabeth ate with them. Usually at the observatory, meals were cheerful, functional affairs, but for committee weekends some effort was made to add a little style. There was a tablecloth on the big, Formica-topped table, with wine provided by Paul Derbyshire, and Elizabeth served the meal. (Schoolchildren were sent to the kitchen to collect their own plates.) Charlie had not arrived, but he was always un-punctual, and they started without him. John seemed not to notice the group’s uneasiness, and began to talk about cannon netting, trying to persuade everyone to join his enthusiasm.

“We’d be crazy not to try it. We could double, treble, our wader catches in one day. The conditions here are ideal.”

“Isn’t it dangerous?” Jasmine Carson was still cautious. She seemed unmoved by Pamela Marshall’s outburst.

“Not if it’s properly set up. I’ve had quite a lot of experience. We used cannon nets on the Wash when I was at college. I’ve got the right endorsement to my licence.”

Elizabeth was sitting next to Mark. She ate little, was less exuberantly involved in the conversation than usual. She seemed to be saving her strength, moving with economy. Usually she communicated with her hands and her eyes and a tremendous theatrical range of voice.

Mark smiled at her. “ You’re very quiet,” he said. “Are you all right?”

She was fond of Mark. She had known him since he was a schoolboy and was tempted for a moment to tell him her secret, but she nodded.

“I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”

Charlie came in then. Nobody took very much notice of him. The conversation did not stop. He was wearing baggy trousers, a jersey with knitted patches on the elbows, and carpet slippers. Elizabeth got up quietly to fetch his soup. When she returned they had started to discuss the working party to mend the trap.

Doctor Derbyshire called across the table to Charlie: “It was generous of you to offer to buy the wire mesh. Most generous.”

The thanks were automatic. Charlie always did provide the extras which the modest membership fees could not cover.

But now he looked up, peered over his soup, and said earnestly: “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I should have thought about it before. It hardly seems worth bothering to mend the traps. You see, I’m going to sell the island.”

He continued, noisily, to eat his soup.

Chapter Two

There was no spontaneous reaction. At first they were too shocked. Charlie seemed calm, unexcited. Perhaps he was playing one of his practical jokes. Then the silence became awkward, challenging. Charlie stopped eating and looked around, inviting response. Pamela Marshall gave a well-bred, high-pitched little laugh, but Jasmine spoke for them all.

“I think, Charles, that you had better explain.”

The stern schoolmistress voice came at just the right moment. She looked across the table at him with a controlled ferocity which had been one of her favourite methods for maintaining discipline. He surrendered immediately to her authority, lowered his eyes, and when he spoke it was with a naughty child’s defensiveness.