He sat up in the room he had taken at the hotel. It was near midnight and he still had not slept. He told himself he needed to walk. But he walked straight to her door. The lantern was out on the ledge. The wick burned down to nothing.

He had to wait for her. He waited more than an hour.

She came to the door hooded and with a red shawl across her shoulders.

‘How are you, sir?’

‘Don’t call me “sir”.’

‘How are you?’

‘Terrible.’

‘Will you drink?’

‘Yes. Whisky. Or rum.’

‘And me? Do you want me?’

‘I will pay for your time. Twice what any other man will pay. Don’t go anywhere tonight.’

After the whisky he went to sleep in the chair.

He woke and she was still there. That she would go back to the rum shanty was an idea he should get used to. But he was happy she had not gone back.

He stared into her eyes.

She said,

‘You look good with your beard.’

He ran his hand over it. Stared again into her eyes. Was the question pending? Surely it was. He thought he saw it.

‘Don’t you want to ask about him?’

She turned away quickly to a basin.

‘Who?’

‘Jim Kenniff.’

‘You are here and alive. I assumed he was dead.’

She glanced back at him, her breath tight in her chest.

Nixon laughed. He lit a cigarette.

‘He evaded me.’

She nodded and kept her eyes on the basin. He wondered if she tried hard not to look glad. But there was no smile and no change in her face.

He spoke to her.

‘You said you were sixteen.’

‘Seventeen.’

‘Keep yourself. And in a year I will come back. And if you still want it I will marry you.’

‘How will I keep myself?’

He gave her a £50 note.

The girl stared at the note as though it were a magical object come into this world from some other.

‘All of it?’

‘It’s all I have for now. You keep it.’

She sighed. Shivered.

‘Do you want me to tell you about Jim Kenniff?’

‘No. I know you will lie.’

She nodded and closed her eyes. Nixon took her hand.

‘But if he comes again …’

‘Yes?’

‘You turn him away.’