The tick, tick, tick of the grandfather clock greets Alice and Leon as they make their way back down stairs, his arm around her waist giving her comfort. But still her mind buzzes as she attempts to unpick her thoughts. So much has happened in such a short time: The portrait of a young man who looks so like her father, a footless puppet in her room, her missing bag and phone, her dress floating in the wind to the bottom of the cliff.

Did Cameron invite her here for a reason? If he did, where is he?

And now Tegan is dead.

The clock chimes once. It’s 10.30 p.m. Christine sits behind the reception desk; her head drooped as though she might nod off in a moment, her glasses slipping down her nose, revealing dark pillows of tiredness under her eyes.

As they approach, Alice wonders again about this woman who Cameron has given full responsibility of running the hotel to, despite, it seems, never meeting her. Why had he chosen her? Running this bizarre place seems too much for the woman. She cooks, cleans the kitchen, mans reception, even pilots the boat. She’s taken on everything. Is it to simply escape her empty house somewhere on the mainland, where she and her beloved Terry once raised their son? Or is there another reason why she’s here?

Leon coughs, and Christine jerks awake.

‘Oh my word, I almost dozed off. I do apologise.’ She looks at her watch, a cumbersome thing with a huge face and large numbers, squinting her eyes as she peers through her glasses. ‘Only another hour, and it will be time for bed.’ She gyrates her shoulders and straightens her silver-thread cardigan, eyes back on Alice and Leon. ‘How are you both after your terrible shock?’ she says. ‘Faith mentioned your father’s literary agent is dead. Murdered she said.’

‘That’s right,’ Leon says.

Alice stares at the side of Leon’s face. ‘We don’t know for sure she was murdered. They say she died in suspicious circumstances – that doesn’t mean murder.’

Leon looks at Alice, takes her hand in his. ‘And because of that,’ his eyes return to Christine, ‘we need to get back to the mainland as soon as possible. The police may want to talk to us.’

‘What? Like now?’ Christine says. ‘Tonight?’

Leon nods, and Alice continues to stare at him, comforted by his hand entwined with hers. She hadn’t thought the police might want to talk to them, but is glad Leon used it as the reason rather than her fear of this place, her desperation to leave.

‘Well, it’s still blowing a gale out there,’ Christine begins, ‘and it won’t be the safest of journeys. But I guess if needs must. I’ll get the key to the boat.’ She eases herself from her stool, and reaches for her anorak and beanie hanging on the door behind her.