George would have put off delivering the Franks’ message to Greg, but Molly would not allow it. He could sense her disapproval across the saloon, and though he tried to ignore it, to concentrate on the field guides and monographs spread over the table, on the characteristics of Madeiran and Wilson’s petrels, he knew she was right.

Eventually, feeling pompous and feeling in a superstitious way that what he was doing would bring them bad luck, that by breaking the circle of attention on the seabirds he would spoil their chances of seeing them, he asked if he could talk to Greg on deck.

“Sure,” Greg said. “ Of course, George.”

His tone was still breezy and confident, but George sensed a watchfulness, a challenge, and when the message was passed on, a relief. They stood at the stern of the boat, watching the lights of the mainland disappearing behind them.

“What’s this all about?” he said lightly. “ Why the mystery?”

“Your parents sent me here to find you,” George said.

“Hey! What do you mean? What’s wrong? I mean, why the drama?”

“They want to sell your father’s business,” George said. “They felt you should be consulted. They didn’t know how to get in touch with you.”

“I’ve been around,” Greg said defensively. “I’ve been living in Bristol actually. I phone them sometimes.”

George shrugged. “ That’s none of my business,” he said. “They hired me to give you a message, and I’m passing it on.”

“What exactly is this message, then?”

“They’d like you to go home to discuss the sale of the business.” George hesitated, feeling some distaste before continuing, “They say that a share of the profit might be yours.”

“Do they, then? Good old Mum and Dad!” Greg grinned. “ I’ll give them a ring tomorrow night,” he said, “ as soon as we get back. Tell them you’ve been a good boy and passed on the message. Put their minds at rest.”

“Yes,” George said. “ That might be kind.”

“How did you know where to find me?” Greg asked. “Were you booked onto the pelagic anyway?”

“No,” George said. “A letter from Rob Earl confirming your place on the trip was sent to your parents’ home. Your mother opened it.”

Greg swung round suddenly. George hardly recognised him.

“The cow!” he said. “ The lying old cow. She promised she’d never open my letters again.”

But when he got to the saloon, all trace of anger had vanished, and he was the life and soul of the party again.

All night the Jessie Ellen moved steadily south-west against an increasing westerly wind. No one slept well. The bunks were hard flat shelves built into the bulkhead, and there were no real mattresses. The cabins were near to the engine, and below deck it was dark, noisy, and very hot. They were crowded and uncomfortable.