He was right about the time. It was almost exactly six hours after leaving San Martin when we threaded our way through the pass in the coral reef and into the lagoon of El Cerco. We were tired because of the movement and hungry because there had been nothing to eat on the boat, and I was deeply thankful when we drifted to the quay on the central island and moored the boat in stillness.

As we went ashore Jill Salton appeared. ‘Glad you could come,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t expect you by boat. I didn’t expect you at all, Gerry.’

Negrini laughed. ‘I just came along for the ride. I hope your kitchen’s working because we’re all hungry.’

Jill frowned. ‘The kitchen’s all right but there’s no staff. The cook went to the mainland – her son was in a motor accident.’ She smiled. ‘Never mind. I’ll get something ready.’

I wished she wouldn’t: I’d already had a sample of her cooking.

Leotta stepped forward and said, ‘I’ll help out.’

Jill, cool and pristine in a crisp white dress, looked at Leotta, who was still recovering from the trip and not as soignée as I had seen her. She’d taken off her suit jacket and the halter-neck chemise underneath was looking decidedly creased. She and Jill were both taut and, like two strange animals, had unconsciously taken up almost identical offensive-defensive stances.

There was a prickly moment of stand-off before Jill relaxed and permitted herself a small smile. ‘I think you need the bathroom before the kitchen,’ she said. ‘Let’s go inside and sort you out.’

They went into the house and Negrini nodded after them. ‘We’ll be lucky if they don’t barbecue each other. What say we build us a couple of drinks?’

It sounded a damned good idea so I went with him into the house. He did things with rum, sugar and fresh lime juice. It proved to be a most soothing concoction and I was just beginning to appreciate it when John appeared. ‘Could I speak to you for a moment, sir?’ He seemed worried about something.

‘What is it?’ John cast a side glance at Negrini, so I added, ‘That’s all right. Say what you want.’

‘It’s the servants, sir. They’ve all left.’

‘So?’

‘There were three telephone calls. Mrs Salton’s maid – her father was ill. The housekeeper said she had to collect a parcel. And the cook …’

‘I know about the cook,’ I said. ‘What’s worrying you, John?’

He looked troubled. ‘I’m not sure, sir. But the telephone is dead. I haven’t been able to put through a call to the outside.’

‘How can it be dead when you’ve been receiving calls?’