No one could say what went on in that classroom that breaktime with Britta Sayers – the door was closed – but a certain spy, who had been better placed on a separate occasion, said Mr Hailey liked to use coin tricks as a seduction technique, had said the black hair of Lark women aroused him and – whisper it – had been seen trying to stick his tongue down the throat of that lovely Miss Cedars.

Britta Sayers was alone with him for a good twenty minutes. A low mumble of voices came from behind the door but with ominous gaps. Britta emerged flushed with colour, all the breath in the top of her chest.

‘Thank you,’ she said meekly, her voice an uncharacteristic squeak. That she had been heard to address him as ‘Ben’ alongside her thanks, was likely an embellishment added to the story later.

Sympathies regarding the situation were proffered over drinks at the bar of the Anchor. A young man in the classroom was certain to confuse the feelings of such impressionable girls. He was nothing but a cat among the pigeons, they said, or should that be, a pigeon among the cats?

‘That poor, new teacher,’ ran the popular line, ‘arriving on the island just when those Eldest Girls were ready to pounce.’

Friday the 13th – April 2018

FRIDAY THE 13TH – APRIL 2018

Viola Kendrick sits in the Customs House and waits, a musty blue blanket draped across her shoulders. In her grip is the walkie-talkie, at her feet lies Dot – curled up, chin on paws, making a damp print of herself on the sanded boards.

From the back office drifts Saul Cooper’s voice. Viola cannot make out the sentences he’s using, just the music of them. First, the staccato codes of communication – letters, digits, short forms – then, longer phrases, affirmations, contradictions. He will be using the satellite phone, she presumes – the Atlantic line can be unreliable. The Marine VHF is of no use here, unless there was to be the most fortuitous alignment of boats and masts. Saul has explained all of this to Viola, an age ago it feels, back when he was happy to humour her.

They had stepped free of the Land Rover and Viola dictated the next move: ‘Now we call the real police.’

As she spoke, she held the walkie-talkie in clear sight, as a reminder, as collateral. Do what I say, and no one gets hurt. The phrase was on the tip of her tongue; Saul wouldn’t have recognised the cliché. There were monthly cinema screenings in the Counting House, a carefully curated selection of the obscure and the inoffensive, with regular popular repeats. No one on Lark was fluent in film speak.

We can do this the easy way or the hard way.

I could tell you what I know, but then I’d have to kill you.

You just don’t get it, do you?