The wind was still pretty ferocious, masking any sounds that might be coming from the boat, but several of the dark clouds had blown away, allowing a small moon and a few stars to shine through. Visibility was better than when I'd arrived on the island and I could make out the figures on my watch. Eleven-thirty. I ran down to the pier and crouched low, by the side of the launch. It was fastened, port side to, by lines at the bow and the stern. I crept to the nearest cabin hatch and peered through. It was the main cabin. There was a helm, control panel and radio, a small teak-fitted living area with tiny galley, a chart table and three further doors leading off. No sign of Richard. I moved on and looked through the hatch of a small sleeping cabin. Dana lay on the bunk, motionless, but she wasn't alone in the cabin. I could see the tip of a polished black brogue and a few inches of charcoal-grey trouser fabric. Thank God, Duncan was already on board. As gently as I could, I pulled myself up and swung my leg over the guardrail. The boat rocked only a fraction.
'Someone up there?' called my father-in-law from below.
Small boats aren't exactly blessed with hiding places. Frantically looking round, I could see only one way out – jumping over the side and swimming for Unst. Someone was moving below, climbing the steps.
On the cabin roof was a folded awning, used to protect the cockpit from spray in poor weather conditions. I climbed up, lay down and burrowed into its folds.
The boat rocked as Richard climbed the companionway steps. I could see nothing, but knew Richard would be at the top of the steps, looking around, puzzled to see no one on board. He'd be less than two feet away from me. I held my breath, praying the canvas awning covered all of me and that he wouldn't notice it looking bulkier than normal.
Below, the boat's radio burst into crackling, static life. 'Arctic Skua, come in, Arctic Skua. Base here.' Richard climbed back down the steps. I prayed the wind would die down a little, just enough for me to hear what was going on.
The radio crackled again; I thought I heard the word 'basement' and a couple of expletives but I couldn't be sure. Then Richard spoke.
'Right, I understand. I'll be careful. I'm setting off now. Arctic Skua out.'
Below me, Richard was moving again. A cabin door opened and shut, then I heard him heading up top. I counted seven footsteps and then he was in the cockpit. He climbed heavily on to the seat and then the deck. I heard him walk forwards and then the sliding sound of the bow-line being released. At once the boat swung round, the current taking it away from the pier. Then Richard walked back down the deck towards the stern. I waited for him to stop and then I risked peering out over the top of the canvas. He was bent almost double, his back to me, unfastening the stern-line from the cleat. Once released, the boat would drift swiftly away from the pier and he would have to rush back to the cabin to steer us away from Tronal. This was my best chance. Creep up behind him, give one almighty shove and he'd go overboard. It would be the easiest thing in the world then for Duncan and me to drive the boat to Uyeasound.
Too late. Richard began to turn. I crouched back down.
The boat was drifting fast from the marina. Richard strode through the cockpit and down the steps. Then I heard the engines revving and the boat swung round to starboard. I looked up, trying to get my bearings. Nothing but blackness ahead. Behind me the lights of Uyeasound were shrinking. We were heading east down the Skuda Sound, out into the North Sea.
Richard wasn't sparing the engines. We sped along at seven or eight knots. Rhythmically, like hammers striking the seconds on a giant clock, waves thudded against the hull. The bow of the boat rose and dipped and spray came hurtling over the deck like an intermittent and very cold shower. It was extremely uncomfortable and I knew the longer I stayed where I was, the colder and stiffer I'd become. When was Duncan going to make his move? I got up. The cabin roof was slippery with sea water and I gripped the rail before lowering myself on to the deck. The rucksack on my back was making me clumsy. I pulled it off and fastened it to a cleat. Then I reached inside. I found what I was looking for and tucked it into the front pocket of my waterproofs.
Then Richard cut down the revs and the boat slowed by several knots. We were heading south; Tronal was about two hundred yards away on the starboard side and around us loomed huge, dark shapes, as menacing as they were unexpected. I'd never been this far east of the islands and I didn't know that some of the oldest rocks in Shetland can be found exactly here. Stacks of granite, echoes of the majestic cliffs that towered here millions of years ago, were all around us. Some were massive, soaring above us in archways and monoliths, others crouched low in the water like fell beasts waiting to pounce. They'd be beneath us too, making navigation treacherous and explaining Richard's drop in speed. Like black-cowled monks, frozen in prayer, they stood in silence and watched us passing.
And something weird had got into my head that night, because it seemed to me these rocks were sentient, that the human drama taking place before them was hardly new, and that they watched, coldly curious, waiting to see how the act would be played out this time.
After ten minutes or so we left them behind and Richard picked up speed again. Still no sign of Duncan, but we were travelling away from help. We had to move soon. I wondered if Duncan, down in the cabin, might not realize which direction we were going in. In any case, we couldn't wait much longer. I moved along the deck until I could step into the cockpit. Glancing down the companion-way, I could see Richard at the helm, chart at his elbow. If he turned, he would see me. I just had to hope he wouldn't. I raised the lid of the portside locker and looked inside: several coils of rope. I chose the shortest and closed the lid. Then I moved across the cockpit to the steps. I wasn't going to hide again. When he turned, he would see me. So be it.
I stepped into the companion-way, put my foot on the top step.
Richard didn't move.
Holding the guard-rail with my free hand, I lowered myself on to the next step down. Then the next.
The third step was damp and my trainer slipped a fraction. It made a faint squelching sound.
'Good evening, Tora,' said Richard quietly.
All the wind went out of me and I sat down, hard, on the steps. He turned and we looked into each other's eyes. I'd expected anger, exasperation, maybe even a cruel sort of triumph. What I saw was sadness.
We stared at each other for a long time. Then his eyes flickered over my shoulder to the port-side cabin. Did he know already that Duncan was on board too? I glanced to one side. The door was closed tight. I turned back to Richard. He pulled back the throttle and the boat slowed almost to a halt. He reached over and switched on the auto-pilot. Then he stood and took a step towards me.
'I wish you hadn't,' he said.
I felt my eyes sting and my jaw start to tremble. Please let me not be about to cry, not now.
'I suppose Emma gave me away?' I asked, praying that was the case. If Emma had told them, they might not know I'd met up with Duncan. Richard might not know he was on board. And where the hell was he, anyway? I pressed my right hand against my chest, felt the reassuring hardness beneath my waterproofs.
'Yes, she mentioned your visit. And then it was a simple matter of checking video footage to confirm it was you. Not that any of us had any doubt. You've been very brave, my dear.'
I pushed myself up and jumped down into the cabin. Richard took a step back. Again his eyes flickered to the door behind me, but I wasn't about to be distracted.
'OK, less of the "my dears"; you and I have never been close, nor are we likely to be in future, given where you're going. I think the GMC might have a few questions about the services you offer at that clinic of yours. That's when the police have finished with you.'