She stood at the edge of the flat rock and looked across the wide bay to the Darse behind its long jetty. A little yacht with a red and white sail slid gently into the harbour; the American frigate, down to her left, had swung round and presented only its broad stern, the flag hanging like a rag in the still air. There was no one about. No sound save the gentle flap and slap of the sea sliding along the rocks in little curls of white frilly foam, crickets, sawing in the dry grasses, bees among the blazing yellow broom. She idly kicked a fallen pinecone, watched it roll down the smooth rock and bob into the water, swirl steadily away in the current, and then unbuttoning the pockets of the safari jacket she looked about for the stones which she would need. There was a good selection and she chose prudently, weighing them carefully in her hand as if she was choosing lobsters. She pushed two medium ones into her right pocket and one larger one of about the same weight into the left one. Stood upright feeling the pull of her shoulders, rebuttoned the flaps, and pushed a couple more, for good measure, and to make perfectly sure, into her two breast pockets. She buttoned them up as she walked slowly down the steeply shelving rock which thrust out into the sea like a narrow causeway for some distance, its colour gradually changing from crystal clear, turquoise, deep emerald until it was suddenly dark, sapphire blue where it fell away into the depths. Cupping the two bulging pockets with her hands she moved slowly and carefully through the water, feeling it rise above her ankles, swirl about her shins, the rock becoming slippery, under her feet, the jacket pulling as she released her hands and spread her arms wide to keep her balance until she reached the edge. A quiet voice behind her jerked her to a stop: she almost fell, arms swinging to keep upright, the water dragging at the hem of her skirt.

‘That’s a fucking silly thing to do.’

She stood frozen, then lowered her arms slowly, bowed her head. ‘Don’t, don’t, don’t,’ she said and started to shuffle on but felt a hand grab her arm and pull her back. She swung her free arm up to strike it away, but the grip was too tight and as she tried to wrench herself loose she slipped and fell heavily backwards pulling a naked body down with her into a flurry of foam and seething water on to the rock, struggling violently against the restraining arms and the weight of the stone-filled pockets of her jacket. A vicious blow across her face stilled her suddenly, and choking and retching from the water which she had swallowed she allowed herself to be dragged slowly up the shelving rock until her head and shoulders were clear of the swirling sea, and she lay, half in, half out, gasping, sobbing, snorting; mucus, tears and salt water streaming down her ashen face. The hands were pulling at the pockets, the stones dragged out and rolled away, and then they were under her shoulders and she was inched up out of the water, rolled on to her face and pummelled violently so that she retched, gulped, spluttered. And lay still.