As the ferry made its way over to Cumbrae and back to Largs for the second time the sun rose gloriously over the bay, the yellow sunlight gilding the tips of the choppy gray waves. A larger crowd of pedestrians and eight cars were waiting at Largs for the second crossing. The rising sun hit the car roofs at an acute angle, casting a deep shadow over the drivers' faces as they paused to give up their tickets to the conductor. She couldn't see any of them clearly but she was ready, her hand curled around the teeth of the stabbing comb, just in case.

She had to wait until the hull had been cranked up and the ferry was entering the bay again before climbing down the ladder for a look. She was standing in the shadows, checking out the drivers, when she saw him sitting patiently in a white Jaguar, his gloved hands resting on the wheel, a cigarette in his right hand. He was wearing a green jacket and a fishing hat. The sunlight glinted off his steel-framed glasses.

Maureen let go of the comb, took a deep breath and patted her bag to make sure the flask was still with her before crossing the deck to his car.

She knocked on the passenger window. He leaned across the white leather upholstery and looked out at her. His expression didn't falter. He touched the door and the window lowered electronically. "Hello, Maureen."

"Oh, Angus, thank God. Did Siobhain phone you?"

He blinked. "Yeah," he said uncertainly, sitting back so that she couldn't quite see his eyes.

"I can't believe you came," she said. "It was so good of you. Can I get in?"

He swallowed and glanced sideways.

"Siobhain's staying with me. We came over together."

"Oh, right," he said, and smiled. It wasn't a very good smile – she had expected him to do better than that. He opened the passenger door, trailing his leather-clad fingertips on the retreating handle, as if reluctant to let it go. She put her bag on the floor and climbed in before he had time to object.

"Didn't Siobhain tell you I was with her?" she asked. Her eyes were racing around his face, she was raising her eyebrows with every second word, creasing her forehead and speaking too quickly. She slowed herself down. "I'm surprised she didn't because she knows I know you."

"She didn't mention you," he said, drawing on his fag. "Maybe she forgot."

"God, I wouldn't be surprised. I expect she was in a state when she phoned, yeah?"

"Yes," he said. "Very upset."

"What did she say?"

"Oh, just, could I come and get her immediately, you know, that sort of thing. Why are you on the ferry at this time in the morning?"

"I had to send a fax to my work," she said, off the top of her head. "I forgot to put my sick line in."

"Don't they have a fax machine on the island? You'd think it would be particularly useful for an outlying community."

He was nervous, she'd never heard him speak so formally, and knowing that he was shitting it made her feel infinitely more comfortable, as if she couldn't do wrong, as if it was destined to go smoothly. She savored the feeling and realized how tense her shoulders were. "Yeah," she said, stretching her neck to relieve the knotted muscles. "They've got one in the post office but it's broken." She reached into her bag, amazed at her bizarre sense of calm, and took out the flask.

Angus frowned and stubbed out his fag in the ashtray. "How is Siobhain, anyway?"

Maureen unscrewed the lid, balancing the silver cup on her knee. "To be honest, she's not making much sense. But, then, she's speaking dead quickly and I can't really understand her accent too well."

"Yes, it's difficult."

"I suppose you're used to the way she speaks?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, she won't talk about you but I can tell you did her a lot of good." Maureen smiled shyly. "She gets a funny look on her face whenever your name's mentioned."

Angus smiled humbly at the dashboard. Maureen used the opportunity to find the Tipp-Ex mark with her finger and keep it there so she wouldn't have to keep looking. "Did she gibber on the phone?" she said.

"A bit. She was able to get the address out, though." He reached down to his pocket and pulled out a packet of fags, lighting one for himself before offering them to Maureen.

"Just had one," she said. "Thanks." She took a firm hold of the cup and poured the coffee quickly. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him watching her with interest. The bitter-chocolate smell of hot coffee radiated out of the flask. She lifted the cup to her mouth and looked at Angus. He was watching her closely. She lowered the cup. "I'd offer you some but it's got lots of sugar in it," she said.

"I take sugar."

"Do you?"

"Yes." He nodded and smiled. "I take loads of sugar."

"Well," she said, sounding chirpy, "a fellow sugar taker. There aren't many of us left these days, are there?"

"Nope." Angus grinned.

She handed him the cup. He lifted it to his nose and smelled it before he sipped. "That's quality coffee," he said, and took another drink.

"It's real coffee." She turned the flask around until the white marker was pointing toward her. "We brought it with us." She tilted the flask forty-five degrees, hoping to fuck he wouldn't realize she was drinking air. He offered her the half-full cup back. "No, it's all right," she said, saluting him with the flask. "You finish that."

She watched him tip the cup high and drink the last drop. He held it out, offering her it back. She didn't want to touch it. She put the stopper in and held the flask out to him. He screwed the cup back on, turning it until it was tight. He smiled at her. "Nice to see you," he said.

Maureen smiled back. "Aye, it's nice to see you too, Angus."

They felt the bottom of the boat scrape the incline of the concrete ramp and the hull wound down in front of them like a drawbridge. The pedestrian passengers walked off in front of them, hurrying up the ramp to the waiting bus.

He started the car and drove over the ferry hull, up the steep concrete ramp, and turned left onto the road, following the signs for Millport. They drove around the east side of the island, passing Lion Rock, magnificent with the early-morning light behind it, through Karnes Bay and on to the seafront at Millport. Angus was keeping an eye on the road and reading the door numbers. "What is it," he said. "Number six?"

"Yeah," said Maureen. "Number six."

"Top flat," said Angus, smiling to himself.

He parked the car opposite the chip shop, pulled on the hand brake, opened his door and got out. The shops were just opening, the bike-hire shop's shutters were half-up and a bearded man with a ponderous beer belly was pushing colorful bicycles and tricycles outside, arranging them in rows on the pavement. The baker's was open: the window displayed full trays of bridies and mince rounds, fresh-made bread and iced buns. The newsagent's was open. Paulsa had told her it might take an hour to work and it was only fifteen minutes or so since Angus had drunk the coffee.

Maureen stepped out of the car with her bag and shut the door. She walked around the bonnet to Angus. A Land Rover was driving slowly down the seafront, closely followed by the green and chrome bus. They stepped back against the Jaguar and waited for them to pass. Angus was holding a foot-long Gladstone bag with a flat bottom and a hinged mouth. It was made of flawless dark brown leather.

"That's a beautiful bag," she said, as the Land Rover sailed past. "You don't see many of them nowadays."

"I had it made. It was to replace an old one."

The ferry bus passed them and she held out her gloved hand to Angus. "Can I see it?" she said.

"My bag?"

"Yeah."

Angus tightened his grip on the leather-bound handle. "It's got my notes and everything in it."

Maureen smiled innocently. "Oh, come on, Angus, I'm hardly going to steal it, am I?"