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there were sufficient non-drinkers in the Isle to provide lifts home. Mary never took more than a small glass of wine for a toast and they could squeeze someone else in their car.
    In the field centre the tables had already been moved out of the dining room to make a space for the dancing. In the old keepers’ accommodation, walls had been knocked through at the time of the original conversion to make big spaces for communal living. Jane was in the kitchen. Perez went in to thank her again for her work. She smiled and took his hand but seemed distracted.
    ‘So we’ll serve the food as we decided yesterday? About nine o’clock as usual?’
    ‘How are things?’ He realized he was like an old woman, desperate for gossip. How pathetic was that! Why couldn’t he be content with his own business? But if he was hoping for more information about Maurice and his teenage daughter he was disappointed. Of course he should have known Jane would be discreet.
    ‘It’s been a very good season,’ she said, with another brief, clipped smile.
    In the dining room he heard the first sounds of the musicians. The fiddle player was tuning up. They swung into the first reel and he felt his feet tapping already. Looking out from the kitchen he saw Fran surrounded by a group of islanders. She had her head tilted to one side and was listening to them talking, her eyes wide open as if she was fascinated by the words. Then she said something he couldn’t hear and they all began to laugh.
    Of course they’ll love her, he thought. She’s so good at all this. How could they do otherwise?
    He went to join her, took her hand and led her on to the floor for the first dance. He knew what was expected of him.
    Chapter Five
    On the afternoon of the party Jane had sat in her room at the back of the field centre. She liked this space. With its high ceiling and narrow window, it made her think of a nun’s cell. There was a single bed, a wardrobe incorporating a chest of drawers, a wash-hand basin. On the bedside table her wireless (this was how she thought of it, a legacy from her very old-fashioned parents) tuned to Radio 4, on the windowsill a row of books, spines facing outwards as if on a shelf. On the chest there was a pile of Times crosswords, carefully cut out of the newspapers by her sister and posted each week. The crosswords were the only things Jane had missed in her isolation. She wondered fleetingly if sisters in enclosed orders were allowed crosswords and then how many lesbians had become nuns in a less enlightened time. She supposed it would be one way to avoid marriage, the expectation that one would inevitably become a mother.
    The simplicity of the room appealed to her. She’d gone south for three months over the winter when the field centre was closed for visitors and it was this clean, sparse space that she’d missed most. She’d spent Christmas with her sister’s family and the good-natured chaos, the squawking children surrounded by wrapping paper and chocolate, had driven her slightly crazy. She’d fallen asleep each night, her senses dulled by the alcohol she’d needed to keep her sane, and dreamed of her room in the field centre, the ironed white sheets and the plain painted walls.
    It was four o’clock, in the lull between clearing up after lunch and serving dinner. Dinner was already prepared; a casserole was cooking very slowly in the oven, potatoes had been scrubbed for baking. This evening a simple meal had been essential because of the Perez party later. Soon she would return to the kitchen to organize the buffet, but most of the work for that was already done. She took off her shoes and lay on her bed. She would rest for half an hour. This was a time of contentment. She loved the contrast between the drama of the storm outside and the peace of her room.
    She was setting out the party food on big trays, before covering it with cling film, when Angela came into the kitchen. Jane was listening to the five o’clock