He snorts and returns to English. “You do not really think that.”

“You’re right. How do you stand living on the water?”

“I like the motion. Makes me feel I am going somewhere.”

“Aren’t you?”

He doesn’t answer but instead fiddles with his ring. I realize the circle design is actually two teardrop shapes forming a perfect yin-yang symbol.

“Are those koi?” I ask. Koi represent harmony, as is created when positive energy balances negative.

He takes off his ring and hands it to me. Though I’m no expert, I can tell the artist employed a deft hand with his needle. The image is detailed enough to see fish scales.

“Where did you get it?” I slip the ring over my thumb, where it hangs loosely.

“This was An’s. I made it for him.”

“You made it?” I glance at his rough hands.

A wry smile crests his face. “Even a rock has its points. Sometimes men ask me to sketch their wives so they can remember them at sea.”

Well, I never pegged Wagtail as an artist. Imagining his strong hands creating something so tiny and perfect fills me with a giddy sense of wonder. “How did you cut the shell without breaking it?”

“Rubbed it against a stone. It takes patience, and sometimes they break. Not every shell wants to be changed.”

I can’t help thinking that we are no longer speaking of shells. I hold out the ring, feeling suddenly conscious of the shape of him in front of me, tall enough to kiss the top of my head, and broad enough to shelter me on a windy day.

He takes it back, and his fingers brush mine. My skin grows rosy. The man is hard not to stare at, with his high cheekbones, clear eyes, plus the scowling mouth, which at the moment looks strangely tender. The cabin conspires with the sea to rock us closer.

The door opens. Without turning around, Bo swings a hand back and catches the edge before it swipes us.

“Hello.” Jamie looks from Bo to me, and his eyes bend into inquisitive hooks.

“Where’ve you been?” I demand, as if I’ve been doing nothing but waiting here.

“Collecting the men.”

Olly and Wink, both looking fresh and windblown, jump up onto the top bunk. Tao and Fong slide into the bottom bunk. Opposite them, Ming Lai and Drummer, his face and clothes black with soot, fit themselves onto Bo’s bunk, while Bo seats himself on a pull-down wall chair near the door.

Jamie’s cheeks dimple. “Charlotte gave me the good news,” he tells me. “Tomorrow on the docking bridge at eleven a.m., but only fifteen minutes. She said you were ‘brilliant.’”