behind the drawn curtains, light spilling from the doors of pubs, laughing voices, people sitdng in warmth and safety. She saw the caravan as she had seen it so often, returning from Norwich after dark, a sturdy rectangle of wood which seemed rooted to the headland defying the gales and the sea, the warm glow from its windows, the twist of smoke rising from the stack. She thought of Timmy and Neil. How long would Neil wait until he called the police? He wasn't one to act in a hurry. After all, she wasn't a child, she had a right to leave. He might do nothing until morning, and perhaps even then he would wait. But it wouldn't matter. There was nothing the police could do. No one except that desolate figure on the quay knew where they were and if he raised the alarm it would be too late. It was useless to believe even in the reality of the terrorists. They were marooned here in black dampness. They would circle and circle until the fuel ran out and then drift out to sea until a coaster ran them down.
She no longer had any sense of passing time. The rhythmic throbbing of the engine had lulled her, not into peace but into a dulled acquiescence in which she was aware only of the wood hard against her back, of Caroline standing intent and motionless in the cockpit.
The engine died. For a few seconds the silence was absolute. Then, as the boat gently lurched, Amy heard the creak of wood, the slap of water. She breathed a suffocating wetness, felt its cold seeping through the jacket, into her bones. It seemed impossible that anyone could find them in this bleak expanse of water and emptiness and she had ceased to care whether they did.
Caroline said: 'This is the place. This is where they're going to meet us. We'll just have to circle here until they come.'
Amy heard the engine again, but this time it was an almost imperceptible throb. And suddenly she knew. There was no conscious process of reasoning, only a blinding and terrifying certainty which burst upon her with the clarity of a vision. There was a second in which her heart froze, leapt and its strong drumming powered her body into life. She almost sprang to her feet. 'They're not going to put me ashore, are they? They're going to kill me. You know it. You've known it all along. You've brought me here to be killed.'
Caroline's eyes were fixed on the two lights, the intermittent flash from the lighthouse, the glitter from the offshore structures. She said coldly: 'Don't be hysterical.'
'They can't risk letting me go. I know too much. And you said yourself that I wouldn't be much use to them. Look, you've got to help me. Tell them how useful I was, make believe I'm worth keeping. If I can only get ashore, somehow I'll make a break for it. But I have to have a chance. Caroline, you've got me into this. You must help me. I have to get ashore. Listen to me! Listen to me, Caroline! We've got to talk.'
'You are talking. And what you're saying is ludicrous.'
'Is it? Is it, Caroline?'
She knew now that she mustn't plead. She wanted to throw herself at Caroline's feet and scream: 'Look at me. I'm human. I'm a woman. I want to live. My child needs me. I'm not much of a mother but I'm the only one he has. Help me.' But she knew with an instinctive wisdom born of desperation that abject pleading, clutching hands, sobs, whining entreaties, would only repel. She was speaking for her life. She had to stay calm, to rely on reason. She had somehow to find the right words. She said: 'It isn't only me, it's you too. This could be a choice of life or death for both of us. They won't want you either. You were only useful to them while you worked at Larksoken, while you could pass on to them details of how the place was run, who was on duty and when. Now you're a liability, the same as me. There's no difference. What kind of work can you do for them that will make it worthwhile supporting you, setting you up with a new identity? They can't find you a job in another power station. And if MI5 are really on to you they'll still be looking. They might not believe so easily in the accident, not if our bodies aren't washed up. And our bodies won't be washed up, will they? Not unless they kill us and that's what they're planning to do. What are two more bodies to them? Why meet us here? Why so far? They could have picked us up much closer to land. They could have got us out by air if they'd really needed us. Caroline, go back. It isn't too late. You could tell the people you work for that it wasn't safe to come, the mist was too thick. They'll find another way to get you out if you want to go. I won't talk, I wouldn't dare. I promise you with my life. We can go back now and it will just have been two friends who took a boat trip and came back safely. It's my life, Caroline, and it could be yours. You gave me your jacket. I'm asking for my life.'
She didn't touch Caroline. She knew that the wrong gesture, perhaps any gesture, could be fatal. But she knew, too, that the silent figure staring rigidly ahead was at the moment of decision. And, gazing at that carved intent face, Amy realized for the first time in her life that she was utterly alone. Even her lovers, seen now as a passing procession of strained beseeching faces and grasping exploring hands, had been only casual strangers giving her the fleeting illusion that a life could be shared. And she had never known Caroline, could never know her, never begin to understand what in her past, perhaps in her childhood, had led to this dangerous conspiracy, this moment of decision. They were physically so close that each could hear, could almost smell, the other's breath. But each was alone, as much alone as if this wide sea held no other craft, no other living soul. They might be fated to die together, but each could suffer only her own death as each had lived only her own life. And there was nothing left to say. She had pleaded her cause and the words were all spent. Now she waited in the darkness and the silence to know whether she would live or die.
It seemed to her that even time had stopped. Caroline put out her hand and switched off the engine. In the eerie silence Amy could hear, like a low insistent pounding, the beating of her heart. And then Caroline spoke. Her voice was calm, reflective, as if Amy had posed her a difficult problem which needed thought to solve.
'We have to get away from the meeting place. We haven't enough power to outrun them if they find us and give chase. Our only hope is to put out all the lights, get away from this place and lie silent hoping they won't find us in the mist.'
'Can't we get back to the harbour?'
'There isn't time. It's over ten miles and they'll have a powerful engine. If they find us they'll be on to us in seconds. The mist is our only chance.'
And then they heard, blunted by the fog but clearly, the sound of an approaching boat. Instinctively they moved closer together in the cockpit and waited, not daring even to whisper. Each knew that their only chance now lay in silence, the mist, the hope that their small craft would be undetected. But the engine noise increased and became a regular, directionless, vibrating throb. And then, when they had thought that the boat would loom out of the darkness and be on them, the noise grew no louder and Amy guessed that they were being slowly circled. Then suddenly she screamed. The searchlight cut through the mist and shone full on their faces. The light dazzled so that she could see nothing but its own giant cone in which the particles of mist swam like motes of silver light. A rough, foreign voice called: 'Is that the Lark out of Wells harbour?'
There was a moment's silence and then Amy heard Caroline's voice. It was clear and loud but to Amy's ears it signalled a high note of fear. 'No. We're a party of four friends from Yarmouth, but we'll probably put in at Wells. We're all right. No help needed, thank you.'
But the searchlight didn't move. The boat was held as if suspended between sea and sky in a blaze of light. The seconds passed. Nothing more was said. Then the light was switched off and they heard again the sound of the retreating engines. For a minute, still waiting, still frightened to speak, they shared a common desperate hope that the ruse had worked. And then they knew. The light held them again. And now the engines were roaring and the boat came straight at them out of the mist with only time for Caroline to place an icy cheek against Amy's. She said: 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry.'
And then the great hull towered above them. Amy heard the crack as the wood splintered and the boat leapt out of the water. She felt herself hurled through an eternity of wet darkness and then falling endlessly falling, spread-eagled in space and time. Then there was the smack of the sea and a coldness so icy that for a few seconds she felt nothing. She came back to consciousness as she surfaced, gasping and fighting for breath, no more aware of the cold, feeling only the agony of a metal band crushing her chest, terror, and the desperate fight to keep her head above water, to survive. Something hard scraped against her face, then floated free. She thrashed out with flailing arms and fastened on a plank of wood from the boat. It offered at least a chance. She rested her arms on it and felt the blessed release of strain. And now she was capable of
rational thought. The plank might support her until morning light and the fog lifted. But she would be dead of cold and exhaustion long before then. Somehow to swim ashore was her only hope, but which way lay the shore? If the mist lifted she would be able to see the lights, perhaps even the light of the caravan. Neil would be there waving to her. But that was silly. The caravan was miles away. Neil would be desperately worried by now. And she had never finished those envelopes. Timmy might be crying for her. She had to get back to Timmy.
But in the end the sea was merciful. The cold that numbed her arms so that she could no longer hold on to the
