Hector arrived just in time for them to follow the tide back to the mainland. In fact he hadn’t been in the cottage for more than half an hour. Vera’s understanding of sex was rather sketchy. How long did it take to make love? Because she assumed that was what had happened there. Hector hadn’t had a regular girlfriend since Vera’s mother had died, but somehow he had persuaded the pretty young woman to have sex with him. The redhead hadn’t wanted to – that was clear from her attitude at the marker on Emmanuel Head. So he must have had some hold over her. On the journey back to the house in the hills, Hector still seemed elated and excitable. Vera said very little, but no response was expected from her. She wondered what had happened to the sad young woman. Had she stayed on the island or was she driving back to the mainland too?

Thirty-five years later, leaning against the marker stone and feeling the gusts of wind eddy around her, Vera thought that her decision to become a police officer had stemmed from that day. It was the last thing Hector would have wanted for her, and that was enough. The next day she’d phoned her local police station and arranged an informal interview. She’d sat her exams and then she’d joined up.

She’d met Hector’s redhead – the only other woman in his life, it seemed – a few years after she joined the force. There’d been a joint operation and the Serious Crime Squad had come up from Newcastle. It was the early Eighties, a time of big hair and big shoulder pads: a style that, like the Laura Ashley ruffles, had passed Vera by. The operation involved local council corruption, organized crime and an agency supplying high-class prostitutes. Vera had been seconded to the team, presumably because there were so few women in the squad. The meeting had been held in the station in Kimmerston, and there’d been a pinboard with photos of the main players. Most of her colleagues smoked, and she’d viewed the images through a haze of cigarette smoke. That was when she’d seen the woman. Not on the board, staring out at her, but sitting at a table at the front of the room, in conversation with the DCI in charge of the operation. The wild red hair had been cut and she wore grey trousers and a black jacket, a neat white blouse. She looked more like a businesswoman now than a student.

‘Who’s that?’ Vera nodded towards the woman and directed her question to Sammy Kerr, her sergeant.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘The lovely Judy Laidlaw. Already a DI. Ambitious. She’s tipped to be the first female chief constable in the UK. And I wouldn’t bet against her.’ He paused. ‘I’ll introduce you later. She’s a great one for getting women into CID, and I know you’ll not be happy until it happens for you.’

Throughout the meeting Vera watched Laidlaw. The images she’d constructed around the woman and Hector shifted, as the patterns in a kaleidoscope change when the tube is turned. This was a strong woman, with a career of her own. Laidlaw would be the equal partner in a relationship. What could she have seen in Hector? Had Vera been wrong? Could they have cared for each other? Had he met her on other occasions? Or was something altogether different going on?