Then the knife split the stone and she looked up at me with her eyes blank for a moment; then she focused, and said, "They're not ripe, are they?'

'I don't know.'

Glancing at my plate, 'You haven't tried.'

So I made a gesture, and when I spoke again it was with the feeling of pulling the pin from a grenade. 'George Proctor feels the same way.'

She frowned. 'I wouldn't know.'

'He didn't talk to you about Mathieson Judd?'

'God no.' With a hurt smile, 'that wasn't our relationship. Just heavy sex and… what I thought was love.'

'Lucky escape,' I said. 'Think of it that way.' I got up and helped her clear the rest of the table.

'Yes, but it's not so easy. Do you like my sharks?'

'I was looking at them earlier.'

'There's a special one out here somewhere.'

'That you want to catch?'

'That I want to kill.' She ran the tap in the small metal sink, brushing against me sometimes, still in the bikini, her skin tanned, copper-coloured in the light from the portholes, with a powdering of dried salt on her shoulders.

'Isn't it the same thing?' Catch, kill.

'No.' She looked up at the photographs on the bulkhead. 'It's one of those, a thresher. It took my father, here in these waters. I was there.'

'When?'

'Eighteen months ago. Eighteen months, a week and two days.'

'How did it happen?' Talking about the tug, she'd said it had been the one great love of her father's life, except for me.

'We were just off the reef over there. The anchor got fouled and he went overboard to free it. The shark saw him.'

'I'm sorry.'

'A whole pack. We hadn't seen them.' She dropped the last plate into the rack and dried her hands and turned away, padding on her bare feet to the shade of the awning, looking across at the launch and waving, turning back to face me, 'maybe they'll stop gawping now,' her green eyes wet as she said, 'have you ever seen anyone eaten alive?' Before I could think of anything to say, 'I'm sorry. It's okay now, really. We've come to an agreement.' She came towards me slowly, her face hard now. 'They won't come for me until I find him, the male thresher, and kill him, or try.'

In the glare of the sun on the sea behind her she stood in silhouette, her short legs braced to the motion of the boat, her feet splayed a little and her arms hanging loose, her eyes alone catching the back-light from the portholes, glimmering in the dark of her skin. She looked primitive, naked, as she stood there speaking of primitive things.

'I go to meet them, you see, whenever they're in these waters. I go and swim with them.'

In a moment I said, 'Alone?'

'I took a friend once, with a camera.'

'This is you?' I was looking at the blow-up near the gallery, under the swinging lamp. 'In this one?'

'Yes.'

I'd noticed it before, and had meant to ask her about it because it looked unreal, surrealistic: the figure of the swimmer wasn't perfectly clear; it could be another shark, because of the surface reflection.

'They won't attack, you see, if you swim the right way – unless of course they're hungry and then it doesn't matter what you do. But my Dad was making a lot of fuss with the anchor – we'd got no idea they were anywhere near the reef or he wouldn't have gone down. Oh Christ -' I went to hold her as she broke suddenly but she shook my hands away – 'I'm okay now, but sometimes I've got to talk about it to someone and it's your bad luck today, you see – because there was my Dad down there fooling around with that fucking anchor and then there was just a lot of blood on the surface, a lot of threshing about and then the blood, Christ, it was a beautiful red -' shaking and with her breath moaning – 'he was a beautiful man, he coloured the whole sea like a flag, like a banner,' sobbing now but still standing straight with her arms hanging by her sides, refusing to bring her hands to her face, 'and that was all I could see of him, all that was left, a sunset on the sea in the early morning light, and you know what I don't understand? I don't understand why in God's name I didn't just go over the rail into all that beautiful red, so he wouldn't be alone.' The tears bright on her dark face, 'so I wouldn't be alone.'

The waves hit the boat and the lamp in the galley swung; the door of a berth creaked. After a time I said, 'A wonderful man.'

'How do you know?' on a sob.

'For you to have loved him so much.'

She swung her head, her hair flying out – 'Love isn't enough, is it, not powerful enough, however big it is, it can't guarantee anything.' She turned and leaned her back to the bulkhead and the tension went out of her and she looked across the sea, across to the reef. 'A wonderful man, yes. It was just over there.'

Where the short waves broke along the reef, tossing up flotsam. 'You can't keep away?'

She turned her head quickly. 'I don't want to.' Looking across the sea again, 'that's where I swim with them, and that's where I'm going to find it, and kill it.'

'How will you know which one it is?'

'I'll know. We think words are all there is.' She came back into the shade. 'Writing, speaking, we think it's the only kind of communication. We talk about vibes, but we don't really understand how deep they go, how strong they are. When I see that one, touch it, I'll know.' She went and found some tissues.

'Is this your father?'

'Yes.'

Laughing, in the photograph in the centre of the bulkhead, holding up a big fish, a tuna or something. A handsome man, not young but youthful, lean, tanned.

'I'll make some coffee,' she said.

'What time do you want to be back?'

'Whenever you do.'

'As soon as you like, then.'

She came and leaned her head against me, closing her eyes. 'It was nice of you to listen to all that. Not that you could help it, captive audience.' Moving away, 'D'you know how to get an anchor up?'

'Yes.'

'Okay, I'll put the coffee on and start the diesel. You look after the winch.'

More gulls now, and the din of a donkey-engine on the quay, the wail of a siren from deeper among the streets.

'I'll try and find George Proctor for you,' she said, 'if you like.'

'It'd be a great help.'

'How much does he owe you? Or maybe I shouldn't – '

'More than I'm ready to lose.'

'I can't promise anything.' She brought the engine down to slow and span the helm; she'd put on the khaki shorts again, with a sweater over the tee shirt; there'd been a cool breeze off the sea. She was easy in her movements, capable, in charge of herself, not the sort of woman who'd try killing a man-eating shark out of revenge.

I asked her, 'Why is he dangerous?'

She watched me for a moment, wondering, I think, whether to tell me. 'The last time I was in his flat, I was just leaving when the phone rang, so I told him I'd see myself out, and he went back to answer it. He couldn't see the door from where he was, and I stayed a minute to listen, to see who it was. It's not the sort of thing -' she shrugged – 'but I'd started to think there was "someone else", as they say. But it wasn't a woman. You can tell, can't you, even when they don't say their names, whether a man's speaking to another man or a woman?' She swung the helm hard over and shifted to full astern.

'Can you make a line fast round a capstan?'

'Yes.' The launch hadn't followed us in but it had left the reef and was moving towards the marina further along the shore. 'So what was he saying?'

'I don't remember much, really, because it obviously wasn't a woman. But I know he said something about "going over". "They suspect I've gone over", something like that.'

A gull swooped, screaming, sighting flotsam.

'Anything else?'

She glanced up at me from the line: something in my tone. 'Was that important? He mentioned an embassy, "your embassy", I think. The reason why I think he's dangerous is that he sounded like that, on the phone. You know how his voice can sometimes sound sort of – I don't know – menacing? Goes sort of silky. It always gave me the shivers. And there was a name he used, I remember now. It was Victor. Look, we're set up – would you jump down and catch the line? It'll save me whistling for someone.'