In Unsta, on the surface at least, there was no sense that that the structure of the island was under attack. Sarah and Jim sat in complacent cosiness by the kitchen fire. There was a sports programme on the radio, but they were not listening to it. Jim was reading. He had been up early to go out with the boat. Sarah felt very healthy and well, physically content. She had been up early too, to help Maggie with the Buness milking. She missed the challenge and commitment of nursing more than she had expected, but she was, slowly, starting to make herself useful. Physical activity had become a reasonable substitute.

Sarah lay back in her chair and stretched her stockinged feet towards the fire.

“I’m not sure I want to go out tonight now,” she said.

Jim grunted, turned lazily towards her, and looked up from his magazine.

“You don’t need to go,” he said. “ Give Will a ring. He can go by himself.”

“No,” she said. “I promised. And it’ll be interesting. Besides, I want to find out why George went to Baltasay.”

He put down his magazine.

“I don’t think you should meddle with that anymore,” he said. “Not now that the police are involved.”

“Do they really believe that Robert was murdered?”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t seem possible,” she said. “ When George was talking about Mary being pushed over the cliff, he was very plausible and convincing, but I never took it seriously. Then Robert was shot and it all started again.” She took Jim’s hand. “The police did believe that you were just shooting rabbits on our land?”

“I think so. They were more interested in finding out about the old man and who had a grudge against him.”

“He seemed harmless enough,” she said. “ I can’t imagine him offending anyone.”

“He was an irritating old fool, always on the scrounge, sticking his nose into other people’s business. No one here liked him.”

“But you can’t think of anyone who would have murdered him?”

“Perhaps not. But I can’t think of many who would rock the boat to find out who did.”

She was quiet. She did not want to spoil their peace together with an argument, but it seemed quite wrong to her. She began to move around, finding warm clothes and waterproofs.

“Perhaps you’d better not go tonight,” he said. “ Palmer-Jones has been asking a lot of questions. It isn’t liked. They think he’s some sort of police spy. Perhaps you’d better keep your distance.”

“Will is going.”

“He’s still a boy.”

“You said that I should do what I thought was right.”

She thought that he was going to persist, demand that she stay at home, but he shrugged. “You’d better go, then,” he said.

She sat down again on the chair by the fire and began to lace up her boots.