“Perhaps we should keep some sheep,” he thought, “to keep the vegetation under control.”

Then he remembered again and his anger returned.

He looked down over Gillibry, his island. To the west and north was darkness, the open sea, the wind that brought storm petrels and shearwaters. The island spread beneath him to the south, and beyond the island were the estuary and the mainland lights. A torch light pulled his attention from the horizon to the track only twenty yards below him. He could hear footsteps on the gravel track and the rustle of a waterproof kagoul, and there was a faint perfume. He knew at once who was walking there. He stood very still. He had always been attracted to Pam, but he had never liked her. She was the last person he would have wanted to see now.

Perhaps she’s going to see Charlie to seduce him into changing his mind, he thought.

He had been intending to follow his usual path round the traps: across the track, through the trees in the Wendy House garden and back along the east cliffs. Now, to avoid meeting Pam Marshall he walked along the ridge of the Beacon, sat under the halfway wall and looked out to sea, letting the flashes of the Lundy lighthouse and the Hartland lighthouse relax him and empty his mind.

Mark found Nick in the bird room. He was mending a mist net, and sat in a tangle of fine nylon line. The bird room was small but well equipped. A worktop ran along one wall. There were bird bags in a pile, a set of scales, strings of rings hanging on hooks to the wall, ringing pliers. The school groups used the room as a laboratory.

When Nick saw Mark he rolled the net up into a rough ball and stuffed it back into its canvas bag.

“Where are Jasmine and the doctor?” Mark asked.

“I don’t know. Aren’t they in the common room? Perhaps they’re making wild, passionate love in kestrel hollow.”

“It’s a big tide. Do you want to try that wader roost at the north end?”

Nick looked at him suspiciously, like a toddler being jollied out of a sulky mood. “ Since when have you been so interested in ringing waders?”

“I’m not, but I can’t face hanging around here, listening to people beefing about Charlie all evening.”

“All right. We can’t use this net, though. One of the guys is missing. I wish that people would put the nets away properly. This one’s in an awful mess. I don’t know why we can’t keep the guys separate from the nets like everyone else. It would make life much easier.”

His self-righteousness was cheering him. He loaded Mark with poles and nets and took a handful of bird bags, and they went out.

From her bedroom Jasmine Carson watched them go. They were laughing over some infantile joke. She was tempted for an instant to shout down to them, to ask if she could join them. Her fingers were too stiff for ringing now, but she could help to put up the nets. But she had already changed her clothes and her arthritis was so tiresome that the thought of changing back exhausted her. If the boys had looked up to her window, they would have seen that she was crying.