‘Not unless you steal to cover them. And he obviously didn’t or they’d have been paid off. Perhaps he was involved in something because the debts made him vulnerable? He might’ve been blackmailed. Maybe vanishing for good seemed the only way out,’ Connor suggested. ‘Just a thought, Tilly.’

‘Then why risk exposure by sending the letter?’ she asked. ‘It doen’t make sense!’

‘Loneliness? A drunken urge, or spur of the moment remorse? It must be difficult to ditch your whole life. If you turn it around,’ Connor said gently, ‘he has lost as much as you, and he did it to himself.’

‘But how? I mean I saw him lift Francie into the boat! It was my last glimpse of them both. If he lost contact with it, if the tide took it out or he couldn’t climb in, how did he survive?’ Before Connor could hazard a guess she suddenly straightened in her seat, remembering her earlier thought. ‘I didn’t imagine seeing him then! Because the letter was addressed here, to Binboona.’

‘Which raises another question,’ Connor pointed out. ‘Two, actually. Why did he come to the camp and how did he leave it?’

Tilly, however, was following her own train of thought. ‘I wish I hadn’t burnt it now. Only I thought . . .’ She didn’t bother to finish the sentence, because if she hadn’t burnt it, she would never have seen the message at all.

And would that have been such a bad thing? a little voice in her head asked. Gerry had done this to her, and the most he could come up with was a three-word apology written in a kid’s code that he didn’t even know she could decipher. He was sorry? Well, so was she! Sorry she had ever met the man who had deserted her and proved himself to be a conniving crook wanted by the police.

Her anger suddenly felt good, subsuming the helplessness and despair she feared. She would not return to that dreadful place she had occupied in her early (supposed) widowhood. She had grieved his loss, believing him to be her other half, a person of worth – not someone who had lied and deliberately deceived her. Ignoring Connor’s last remark, she stood decisively, collecting mug and the crumpled kitchen paper.

‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly, ‘for listening. I don’t usually . . . It was just the shock. I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention this to anyone. It’s a private matter and I’d like to keep it that way.’

‘Of course.’ Connor hesitated. ‘You don’t think you ought to let the police know?’

Tilly’s hackles rose at the thought of Sergeant Burns. ‘I wouldn’t tell that man if he was on fire,’ she said tartly.