I knew most of their news: there had been only two rapes in the intervening period and one of those had been a bit suspect: a young Jersey girl who was already a teeny bit pregnant by a fiancé who had absent-mindedly joined a boat going to Australia. The other incident bore all the marks of being ‘one of ours’ but the victim was a hopeless witness, even by female standards, and could add nothing to our dossier.

George and Sam had been patrolling in a desultory and halfh-earted way but with no results except that Sam said he had chased a mackintoshed suspect for half a mile but had lost him in the outbuildings of one of George’s tenant-farmers. A search had produced nothing but a pair of bicycle-clips in a disused cow-stable.

Sonia was quite recovered. Violet was much worse: clearly catatonic now, having to be watched night and day.

George was withdrawn and morose; Sam was in a state of suppressed hysteria which I found disturbing: long silences punctuated by random and bitter witticisms of poor quality. Not at all the Sam I had known and loved.

News exhausted, we looked at one another dully.

‘Drinks?’ I asked, dully.

George looked at his wristwatch; Sam opened his mouth and shut it again. I poured drinks. We drank three each, although we had had no luncheon. Johanna joined us. By the hard light of noon she looked older by ten years but her air of command was still there.

‘Well, have you boys made a plan?’ she asked, looking at me, bless her.

We made three apologetic grimaces. Sam started to sketch out a smile but gave up at the attempt. George cleared his throat. We looked at him wearily.

‘Let’s go fishing,’ he said. ‘My bass-boat’s all new-painted and varnished and they’re putting it into the water tomorrow. Do us all good, a bit of a sail. Try for some mackerel, eh?’

Sam and I, by our silences, registered total disapprobation. George on land is merely brigadier-like; at sea his mission seems to be to prove that Captain Bligh was a softy.

‘Oh yes, Charlie, do go!’ cried Johanna. ‘A bit of a sail will do you so much good, and I would adore some fresh mackerels.’

I shifted sulkily in my chair.

‘Or pollocks,’ she added, ‘or basses or breams. Please, Charlie?’

‘Oh, very well,’ I said. ‘If Sam’s coming.’

‘Of course,’ said Sam bitterly, ‘of course, of course.’

‘Wonderful!’ said Johanna.

‘Nine o’clock, then?’ said George.

‘Dark by that time,’ I said.

‘Got a dinner engagement at eight,’ said Sam.

‘I meant nine a.m.’ said George.

We stared at him. Finally he settled for immediately after luncheon and, later still, agreed that this should be construed as 2.30 p.m.

* * *