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news on the radio, but Angela’s appearance made her reach over and switch it off. Angela never dealt with domestic matters and her presence in the kitchen was unusual, an occasion. Her natural habitat was outside. She strode like an Amazon across the hill with her telescope on its tripod slung over her shoulder and binoculars around her neck. Indoors she seemed constrained and restless.
    Jane assumed that this was about Poppy. They both disliked Maurice’s youngest daughter. It was the only matter they had in common. She hoped Angela had come up with a plan to control the girl. But it seemed there was something quite different on the warden’s mind.
    ‘I wanted to talk to you,’ she said, ‘about next year.’
    Jane looked up from the tray of pastries. ‘Of course.’ She was astonished. Angela always left the staffing to Maurice. ‘I was thinking I might come in early next season. The kitchen needs a good clean and we never get a chance once the visitors arrive. And I could fill the freezer with baking. Take the pressure off once the rush starts.’ When there was no immediate response Jane added: ‘You wouldn’t need to pay me the full rate, of course.’ Actually, she would have offered to do the work for nothing but she knew Angela would find that weird. Jane thought how much she would enjoy a few weeks here at the start of the season, imagined the kitchen after it had been thoroughly scrubbed, the red tiled floor gleaming, the cooker and the larder spotless.
    Angela stared at her. ‘That’s the point. I’m not sure we’ll need you at all next year.’
    ‘You won’t need a cook?’ Jane knew she was panicking and that was making her obtuse. She stared at the younger woman, whose hair was loose today, a black cape down her back.
    ‘Of course we’ll need a cook. But not you.’ Angela’s tone was amused, slightly impatient. She had better things to do.
    ‘I don’t understand.’ That at least was true. Jane knew she was the best cook the centre had ever employed. She didn’t need the compliments from the visitors to tell her, or Maurice’s comments after a particularly busy week: I don’t know what we’d do without you. I’m not sure how we functioned here before you arrived.
    ‘The chair of trustees wants us to employ his goddaughter. She’s just out of catering college. Fully qualified.’
    ‘Then she could come as my assistant.’ Though Jane knew it would be a pain. Jane liked an assistant who did as she was told, who was happy to prepare vegetables and concentrate on the basics. The last thing Jane wanted was an assistant who thought she knew it all. In fact, she preferred to have the kitchen to herself. It had been a great relief when the latest help, a jolly Orcadian called Mandy, had gone off on the Shepherd the week before.
    ‘We suggested that,’ Angela said smugly. ‘But it wouldn’t do.’
    ‘Surely that’s Maurice’s decision. Not the chair of trustees.’
    ‘In theory.’ Angela smiled. ‘But Christopher has offered to make a substantial donation to the centre. It would allow us to completely update the library and replace the old computer in the office. In those circumstances we can’t turn down his offer to find us a cook too.’
    Christopher Miles had his own business in the north of England. Jane had met him briefly when the trustees came to the island for their annual meeting. She’d liked his enthusiasm and his lack of pomposity. She thought the offer of employment had come from Angela, a way of cementing the sponsorship deal. Nepotism wasn’t his style.
    ‘What does Maurice make of this?’
    ‘As I said before, it isn’t really Maurice’s decision. We’re appointed by the trustees.’ She looked at Jane. ‘You only have a short-term contract. We’re not obliged to have you back each year. You’re an educated woman. I’d have thought this sort of work would bore you eventually anyway.’
    And Angela turned, her hair swinging, and strode out of the