It slumped at first, as if the rope was slack. Then it was a constant, gradual ascent, and at the far end there was a tall, bare, chimney-shaped stack. It seemed strange, suddenly, that a thin tourist leaflet could encourage you to risk your life – for that’s what they were about to do.

Maria crouched down, and Michael knelt next to her. Turning back was unthinkable but they needed to take it step by step. The wind was as strong as ever.

‘What are you thinking?’ he said.

‘What?’

He had to put his mouth close to her ear.

‘What are you thinking?’

‘That it is very dangerous. Difficult.’

‘Yes.’

‘What are you thinking?’

‘The same thing.’

‘What?’

‘I am thinking the same thing. Very dangerous!’

‘Too much wind. Maybe this old lady is trying to kill me.’

‘You want to go back?’

‘I can’t hear you—’

‘I said, “Do you want to go back?”’

She laughed at him, and her laughter was flung away. Then she took out her camera and photographed the way ahead. She managed to turn it on Michael, and he made a frightened face.

‘Smile,’ she said.

‘How? I’m feeling sick.’

‘But it’s the last photo, Michael, before you blow away!’ she cried. ‘Joking! Come on!’

She tightened the straps of her backpack, and checked her bootlaces. He pulled his hat a little lower. There was no point in delaying, for there was nothing to plan or discuss. Maria pushed on, and the next moment she was walking upright again.

Michael followed, still negotiating the gentle descent. He found that his boots fitted neatly into the well-worn path, and best of all he discovered it wasn’t as narrow as it had seemed. There were handholds of a kind, too, for the track was snug against a shelf of knee-high rock, which acted almost as a handrail. If you took care, and went slowly, it was safe enough. Of course, Maria was quicker than him. She was nimble, and was getting close to the end. She was using both hands, and he could see that she had found a certain rhythm as she walked. The wind pressed him back, and he inched forward more carefully. When he saw that she had turned and was filming him, he managed to wave, but when he took another pace something strange happened. He found his legs were locked, and he couldn’t go any further.

She must have sensed it, or perhaps she saw his face close up in the camera and knew something was wrong. He opened his eyes to find that she was next to him again – she had retraced her steps.

‘What?’ she said.

He laughed.

‘What’s the matter, Michael? Are you resting?’

‘No. I’m not feeling very well.’

‘What do you mean?’

Her face was very close. It had to be, so she could hear him.