But Charlie was stubborn. He was dreaming of life as a travelling player, moving from village to village along the canal. The observatory no longer had any relevance to him. It was as if it had never existed. With some attempt at dignity, but sounding like a child fighting over a long-discarded toy, he said: “ It’s my island. I can do what I like with it.”

Elizabeth gathered the soup plates together. As she moved she become the focus of their attention. They ignored Charlie and watched her as if she was performing a dance or a mime. When she went into the kitchen they waited in silence for her return. There was too much to be said to Charlie and no one felt up to the task. Elizabeth returned, carrying a huge casserole containing the main meal. She always made an effort for committee weekends and they turned their attention gratefully to the food. She acknowledged their compliments with a smile as stylized as the ritual clearing of the plates, but Mark at least noticed that she had been crying. John abruptly left the table and did not return. They watched him go in astonishment. Still nothing was said.

John’s leaving, the empty place at the table, was a statement that things were not right with them, but the statement having been made, those remaining began to speak of other things. They were snapped out of shock as if by a slap on the face.

Nick worked as assistant manager in a shop, one of a chain owned by Charlie’s family. Threatened by the silence, he began to talk compulsively about the holiday trade, the foibles of the tourists, the problems of their imported staff.

“But it’s been a good season,” he said. “ We’ve done very well.” Then with a studied lightness: “Perhaps you should ask your family to fund the boat project, Charlie. They should be able to afford it this year.”

“I thought of that,” said Charlie simply, “but it didn’t work. They don’t like me, you see.”

Jerry Packham was sitting next to Pam Marshall at the table and they had been talking quietly together. Pam was involved in the politics of conservation, was ambitious. She was efficient and enjoyed the power over the use of land. She was a Devon Conservation Trust Committee member and was discussing with him the purchase of a reedbed on the outskirts of Gillicombe, for a reserve. She was fighting to get the purchase approved. He was sure that eventually it would be.

“Perhaps you could persuade the Trust to buy the island,” he said.

She shrugged. She had not appeared particularly distressed about the sale of the island. There were other places to go. It would be inconvenient. Perhaps it would be in her interest to form a protest group to save it, but she was not emotionally involved. Perhaps it would be in her interest for the sale to go through.

“They couldn’t afford it,” she said. “ Besides, they’re very ambiguous about ringing.”