‘Probably should be getting on,’ she says. ‘But another time would be lovely.’

‘Need anything for the work on the boat? As I expect you’ve discovered there’s not a lot on the Halcyon. Hobbyists, not serious boat people.’

‘Yes, yes, thank you.’ She keeps all her own tools out of sight of prying eyes on the boat and only puts them in the van to transport them to and from a job. She can’t bring herself to tell him that she hasn’t thought about the boat yet.

Alex is standing on deck with his hands on his hips. ‘I’ve got a load of stuff here you’re welcome to use if you want to take a quick look?’

He holds out a hand and to her surprise – because she is always so meticulous about no special treatment, has found over the years of working on boat engines that it’s the only way to be taken seriously in that world – she takes it and steps on board. He has a toolbox and supplies cupboard in the stern beside the pump.

‘So,’ he says, ‘anything useful?’

She casts an eye over the box. ‘I’m not sure. That rachet spanner? And some marine sandpaper. I won’t really know until I start.’

‘Well feel free to use whatever you want.’ He turns and gestures towards the saloon. ‘Now, how’s about that coffee after all?’

He moves into the saloon, pulls out a spare chair and invites her to sit beside the wood stove before turning his attention to the galley.

‘This interior is gorgeous,’ she says, admiring the gleaming wooden floorboards and the fitted shelves stuffed with books, the glorious old brass ship’s light beside the stove.

‘Thank you. It was a labour of love. Kept me sane after I was made redundant.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I realise I haven’t asked what your profession is, or was?’

‘Hack,’ he says, ‘if you can call that a profession. Worked on local newspapers in the Midlands mostly. These days I get by doing websites, that kind of thing. Not inspiring but pays the bills.’ He brings over a worn stove-top espresso maker and two cups. ‘What about you? Bill told me almost nothing except that you’re a whizz with boats. You mentioned a research project?’

‘Yes, yes. I’m…’ She finds herself hesitating, put on the spot. Should she come clean? ‘I’m looking into a suicide, an attempted suicide.’

‘Any particular reason?’ he says, taken aback.

Ahead, in the near future, she can already see a thicket of lies and misunderstandings. Better to come clean now.

‘My daughter, Nevis…’

‘…named for the island or the mountain?’

‘The mountain. Her birth mother Zoe’s favourite place.’

‘Sooo…’ Alex says, sounding unsure of himself.

‘Zoe was a great friend of mine and when she died, nineteen years ago, I adopted Nevis.’

‘That must have been very difficult.’