“Who telephoned you from Kinness?”

She stared at him blankly.

“What do you mean?”

“While you were staying in the hotel at Baltasay, a man with a Kinness accent telephoned you. Who would that have been?”

“You’re wrong,” she said. “The only phone call I had was from Jonathan.”

But she twisted the wedding ring round and round on her finger.

It was a monotonous journey back to the island and George looked at his watch with increasing impatience. The sea was flat calm and the mist was so dense that there were no seabirds to watch. After Alec’s outburst at the plane the day before, George had expected some comment from him, but he said nothing. Perhaps Sandy had explained that George was carrying out the investigation with his blessing.

As they approached Kinness the cloud lifted a little and there were a few moments of sunshine. Everything at the jetty there was the same as it always was. The men performed the acts of throwing and tying ropes with their usual easy grace. James was there with the lorry. The islanders worked together to unload the boat’s cargo. There were shouts of friendship, jokes, laughter. The island was green and fresh after the rain.

Jonathan had been waiting for Sylvia, and the couple walked together immediately towards the school house. George watched them carefully. He saw Sylvia smile at Jonathan but it seemed to him false and mechanical, as if she were still thinking of something else.

Sarah had been there to meet Jim. She waved at George, but she was watching her husband. She stood with the men on the lorry and helped to unload sacks of flour. He thought that he had been unfair to separate her from her new family by involving her in the investigation. He would complete the thing by himself. He saw Sarah and Jim smile at each other and thought bitterly: they don’t care that an old man and a child have died. It means nothing to them. The cloud came down again and there was a light persistent rain.

When he got to the school house, Sylvia was upstairs unpacking and Jonathan was alone in the sitting room. His hair was wet and tousled and he looked very young and confused.

“I don’t understand her,” he said. “I don’t know what she wants. You did give her my message?”

“Yes.”

“What did she say?”

“She said that she thought it might be too late to make a fresh start.”

“She hasn’t said that much to me. She won’t talk to me. She seems so unhappy. I didn’t realize that she was so miserable.” He looked up from the fire. “ Do you think it’s too late for us?”

“I don’t know,” George said. “How should I know?”