He knocked.

‘Ah, Mackensie. Come in and sit down. Tea?’

‘I’ve had tea, thank you, sir.’

‘Then you won’t mind if I indulge?’ Dr Rowe began to pour.

‘I was going to say . . .’ Vic reached into his pocket for the envelope and placed it on the table.

Rowe looked up sharply. ‘What’s this? Your resignation? Whatever are you thinking, man?’ The tea missed the cup and a brown puddle formed on the table top. ‘Dammit, Mackensie. Now you’ve made me spill the tea.’

He went to the telephone. ‘Get someone to come and sort me out, would you, please? I’ve made such a mess.’ Within seconds there was a knock and Kath, the girl from the Cliff Walk, entered with a cloth and began to clear up the puddle.

He’d thought about her quite a bit after that evening: how kind she’d been, how calming he’d found her presence, that sweet freckled face framed by startlingly red curls and the charming little gap between her teeth when she smiled; her soft Suffolk accent, and the astonishment she’d expressed when he told her about the Pulhamite. She was the only girl he’d actually talked to, properly, one to one, for as long as he could remember. What a shame he was going to leave just as he was getting to know her.

‘Shall I bring a fresh pot, Dr Rowe?’ she asked, avoiding Vic’s eye.

‘No, that’ll be fine, thanks.’

She was gone as quickly as she’d arrived.

‘Now, what’s this nonsense about resigning?’

‘I thought, sir, as I am the leader of the team . . . and if they find . . .’

‘They won’t, man, they won’t. There is no way that kit could have caused a crash. Hopefully we’ll know for certain when their engineers have finished their inspection of the wreck. But in the meantime, it’s business as usual.’

Dr Rowe took a sip of his tea, fixing him with a piercing gaze. ‘Though I have to say you’re looking rather grey round the gills, Mackensie. Pale, for you I mean.’ He took another sip, his chubby little finger curled in a clumsy attempt at daintiness. How Johnnie and Vic would have giggled together about it.

‘I’m told you aren’t coming down for meals. Is that correct?’

Rowe’s unexpected sympathy almost tipped Vic over the edge. He took a deep breath, trying to control his voice. ‘I miss Mr Palmer very much, sir.’

‘Yes, quite so. Only to be expected. Now listen. I’m going to give you a week’s pass. Perhaps go down to Hampshire for the funeral? It’s on Friday, two o’clock. I’ll organise a travel warrant. Maybe call in to see your father too? He lives south of London, doesn’t he? Tunbridge Wells, if my memory serves. Then we’ll see you back here next Monday, batteries recharged, and ready to resume your duties.’

‘Thank you, sir. That is most generous.’

‘And you can put that soggy envelope into the waste-paper basket on your way out, Mackensie.’