ii

The fishing village of Deep Cove was on the north coast of the island: a knot of cottages clustered around an unremarkable bay. There was a general store and post office, a church and a pub — the Cod-and-Bottle. A van drove over to Montjoy on the south Coast with the catch of fish when there was one. Montjoy, the only town on the island, was a tourist resort with three smart hotels. The cove was eight miles away, but not many Montjoy tourists came to see it because there were no “attractions,” and it lay off the main road. Tourists did, however, patronize Leathers, the riding school and horse-hiring establishment run by the Harknesses. This was situated a mile out of Deep Cove and lay between it and the Pharamonds’ house, which was called L’Espérance and had been in the possession of the family, Jasper had told Ricky, since the mid-eighteenth century. It stood high above the cliffs and could be seen for miles around on a clear day.

Ricky had hired a bicycle and had left it inside the drive gates. He jolted back down the lane, spun along the main road in grand style with salt air tingling up his nose, and turned into the steep descent to the cove.

Mr. and Mrs. Ferrant’s stone cottage was on the waterfront; Ricky had an upstairs front bedroom and the use of a suffocating parlor. He preferred to work in his bedroom. He sat at a table at the window, which commanded a view of the harbor, a strip of sand, a jetty, and the little fishing fleet when it was at anchor. Seagulls mewed with the devoted persistence of their species in marine radio-drama.

When he came into the passage he heard the thump of Mrs. Ferrant’s iron in the kitchen and caught the smell of hot cloth. She came out, a handsome dark woman of about thirty-five with black hair drawn into a knot, black eyes, and a full figure. In common with most of the islanders, she showed her Gallic heritage.