She had given the name of the owner of the only big hotel on Baltasay, an Englishman, who had appeared mysteriously after the war.

“That’s no problem then,” he said. “You can leave your bags with Jean in the harbour office and we’ll walk. It isn’t far.”

The Englishman had been surprised to see her but had put on a good enough show of being pleased that she was there.

James had not been able to forget her. He had used every excuse to get to Baltasay to see her. He had dressed up in the suit which was too big for him and sat in the hotel bar waiting to catch a glimpse of her. Very often she was there before him. Sometimes the Englishman was with her, loud and showing her off to his friends. Usually she was on her own. She looked around her with big black eyes, made up in a way he had never seen before, staring out of her tiny white face. Then one night he had arrived at the hotel and she had been different. She was in her place at the bar but the smudges under her eyes were caused not by make-up but by tears.

“I’ve got to leave tomorrow,” she said. “He’s told me that I’ve got to go. He’s found some other fancy woman.” She never spoke of the Englishman by name.

“What will you do?”

“I don’t know.” She had never spoken of her past. She seemed to belong nowhere.

“Have you friends to go to? Family?”

“No.”

“Come home with me. You know I would have asked you anyway if you’d been free. We’ll be married.” Then, as she hesitated: “Or I’ll come with you. Wherever you like.”

She had been his obsession. He had dreamed of touching her, of knowing her. While he waited for her to give her reply he thought that the whole thing was impossible. He had frightened her away.

“No,” she had said at last. “I’ll come with you. To Kinness.”

At that time he had never kissed her. He had only touched her to take her arm on that first day, by the harbour, to take her to the hotel.

“And we will be married?”

“If that’s what you want.” It really had not mattered to her one way or the other.

They were married quietly on the island. There had been none of the fuss of balloons and flowers. They had been happy, intensely happy until, he thought, she began to crave for a child, in the same way as he craved for her.

She was still lovely. She still had the fine features and big, dark eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve let you down again.”

“Don’t be silly,” he said.