The brightness of the morning lingered, but it was combined now with the peculiar, metallic intensity of a sky which threatened snow, so rare in this part of the world that she could only remember two or three winters when the familiar landmarks of the Mount had stood strange and silent, transformed by an invisible hand. She shivered, chafing her hands as she walked through the lodge gate and past the island’s tiny graveyard, where the wind rustled through the leaves of the palm trees, hissing like the serpent in the statue above the lych-gate until she could almost believe that it had escaped St Michael’s spear. The museum stood opposite, housing a miscellaneous record of the Mount’s history to entertain the scores of visitors who came over from the mainland in the summer. It was usually closed at this time of year, with its more fragile exhibits shrouded in dust sheets, but Emily Soper – who lived and worked on the premises – had obviously been instructed to put on a good show for the Christmas guests; the lamps were all lit, and Nora could see Emily inside, rearranging one of the displays. She opened the door, glad to be out of the cold, and smiled at her friend. ‘I’m doing the church up for tomorrow,’ she said, ‘and we seem to be short of a wise man.’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time, and I doubt it’ll be the last.’ They both laughed, and Nora was grateful for a moment’s easy company. The two women had always been close, growing up together on the island, and she realised now how important the friendship had been to her recently. ‘Have you got time for a cup of tea?’ Emily asked. ‘The kettle’s just boiled.’

Nora shook her head reluctantly. ‘I’d love one, but I’d better not. It’s pandemonium up there today.’ 65

‘Well, if you will mix with the stars …’

‘It wouldn’t be my choice.’

‘Ah, get away with you. I won’t be moving far from this window until I’ve seen her arrive, and you’re not telling me you won’t find an excuse to pop up to her room later.’

Nora smiled. ‘I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t make sure she was comfortable. Is the figure ready?’

‘Good as new. I’ll go and fetch him for you.’

She went through to the back room and Nora slipped off her coat and hung it on a chair by the fire to warm while she was waiting. The museum seemed more crammed than ever, a motley selection of stuffed birds and fossils, carefully arranged cigarette cards immortalising the legends of giants and kings, paintings of the Mount over the centuries and obscure weapons from its military past. A recently opened Christmas card lay on the counter, and Nora recognised the handwriting on the envelope; she picked the card up and read the greeting, Christmas wishes for a mother from her son, sent with fondest love.

‘Have you heard from Jenna?’