'Ski?' Willie said, shocked. 'Here?'

I knew what he meant, although I didn't know anything else about skiing. The place looked like a piece of the moon: any slope less than vertical was spotted with boulders the size of rabies.

'This is not Switzerland,' Kari said coldly. To ski we do not need a mountain four thousand metres high and a cocktail bar at the top.'

Willie grinned and started unpacking the car.

The cabin itself was a bit over twenty feet long by fifteen wide, split in two crossways and then one half split again; you ended up with one big room – well, say eleven by fifteen – and two small bedrooms. A small hutch beside the front steps hid (more or less) a proper flush toilet, except it couldn't be flushed. You just dumped buckets of water down it until Scandinavian standards had been restored. The water came from a communal tap down by the road, so it was cement-sandwich country as far as I was concerned.

Inside, the furniture was a table, wooden chairs and benches, a few cupboards, and one big old stove in the middle, backing on to the dividing wall so that the bedrooms might get a bit of heat as well. Might. Right now the wind was whispering through the plank walls and the whole place was as cold as a penguin's kiss.

'Welcome to the Arctic Hilton,' Willie said, and dumped an armful of sleeping bags and blankets on a bench. Kari lit a hurricane lamp, then started working on the stove.

Five minutes later, by the time we'd hauled the rest of everything and everybody inside, the stove was crackling and spitting from the ice melting down inside the chimney, the hurricane lamp was hissing gently to itself, and the place was smelling of wood-smoke, paraffin – and even warmth. Nygaard had gone slap off to sleep on the bench, not noticing the stove.

Kari dragged a Primus from under the table and asked un-hopefully, 'Do you want a hot drink now?'

'No thanks,' Willie said quickly. 'I'll have whisky – now I've stopped driving." The Norwegian law on that had come as a bit of a shock to him; I wondered if he yet knew he wasn't supposed to smoke while driving through towns. Well, that couldn't be too serious.

Kari looked at David, but he just smiled sleepily and shook his head. So she pushed the stove back again. 'I think if we stay, we will use the other rooms also. But perhaps tonight, for warmth, we should all sleep here?' She glanced anxiously at Willie to see if she'd offended the Code of the Winslows.

He smiled and said, 'Fine, fine,' and poured me a Scotch in an enamel mug. 'Well, cheers.'

'Cheers. You'd better hide that stuff before tomorrow.'

'Oh, Lord, yes. Outside, I suppose? Whisky isn't supposed to freeze, is it?' He looked at Nygaard. 'I suppose we'd better get him to bed, too.'

It took three of us five minutes to get his shoes and overcoat off, cram him into the sleeping bag, and zip it up. By then, David was in his own bag and asleep again. The girl went outside, presumably for a private leak.

Willie looked thoughtfully down at Nygaard and whispered, 'It is going to be cosy in here, what? I mean, he does rather smell like a dead horse.'

'Shut your nose and think of England. And if the cabin burns down, don't wake me till it's too late.' I wrapped myself firmly in three blankets, spread my sheepskin over my feet, and shut my eyes tight. A few minutes later, the lamp went out.

It was nine o'clock in the morning when I finally decided to admit I was awake and sit up. I wasn't too sure I'd ever been to sleep, except that I'd remembered waking up twice before: once when Kari got up to fill the stove again, and once when Nygaard's snoring almost unwrapped me from my blankets. And I remembered the stove glowing a dusky red and thinking of that first winter in the Army up at Catterick…

Kari, Willie, and David were already sitting at the table sipping coffee; Nygaard still down and out. I unwound myself, stood up, stretched, and took the cup Kari poured for me. Nobody said anything, though for a moment David looked as if he were about to.

The room had two small, dirty windows, and the day beyond them was thick and cloudy, the mountainside opposite fading into cloud a couple of hundred feet higher.

Kari said, 'It may snow, I think.'

Well, that would probably be warmer than a clear sky.

David asked brightly, 'D'you think we'll be snowed in up here, then?'

Willie looked at him sourly and lit a cigarette.

Kari said, 'They will clear the road right through up to Sinnes in a day or two. For the Easter skiers. Would you like some eggs?'

Willie said, 'Of course he'd like some eggs. What's a little frying to an atmosphere like this?'

'Stub out that mentholated bird-shit special and say that again. No, thank you, but I'll take a bit of bread and cheese.'

David's quiet dark eyes flicked from one to the other of us, an oddly wondering expression on his face.

Kari said sharply, 'You men must behave, please. Now: what happens?'

I said, 'Willie runs you down to pick up the boat and give it back. That's what you said, wasn't it?'

She nodded. 'Ja. The boat must be back for midday.'

Willie sighed and stood up. 'Well, I suppose it'll be a change of air, anyway. Are you coming, David?'

David looked at me. I said, 'There's nothing happening here. You may as well take the ride.'

Kari was looking down at Nygaard. He wriggled restlessly in the sleeping bag. 'Shall I – should I wake him, now?'

'Go ahead,' I said. 'I'll walk Willie down to his carriage.'

Willie looked at me suspiciously, but he put on his coat and led the way out. And itwas a change of air. Even the damp dull day smelled as fresh as tomorrow's daisies after that cabin.

When we reached the car, he turned and said, 'Well?'

'I'm glad I'm not married to you at this time in the morning.'

He glared, then grinned. 'Sorry, old boy. Getting soft, I suppose. Used to be able to get a dreamless eight hours under an armoured car in the rain, but now… What was it you wanted?'

'A short comprehensive lecture on marine diesel engines.'

Kari came down to the car a quarter of an hour later, glancing nervously over her shoulder. And not at David, who was just behind.

'He asked for a drink,' she said anxiously.

'It'll pass,' I soothed her. Which might even be true, for an hour or two.

'You won't let him have one? '

'I promise.' And that was certainly true.

I watched them off down the road, now turning sludgy as the temperature crawled above^freezing, then turned back slowly -almost reluctantly – for the cabin.

Nygaard was huddled at the table, a blanket slung around his shoulders, both hands locked on a mug of coffee that still trembled and slopped whenever he moved it. He watched me with eyes like small bullet wounds as I made myself a fresh cup, then sat down opposite him.

I said, 'My name's James Card.'

'I remember.' Probably that was true, though you hate to admit anybody could forget you anyway. But I just nodded, sipped, and waited.

We stayed there, quiet as two London clubmen, for a good fifteen minutes. Then he put down his mug, almost empty. I said, 'More?' and poured him some. We went on waiting. His hands actually were steadying up a bit.

Then I said, 'You did a good job on that diesel last night.'

He looked up vacantly, but nodded, pretending he remembered.

I said, 'What're the best diesels you've handled?'

'Almost only the Burmeister and Wain. Most ships in Norway have them.'

'Two-stroke?'

'Ja, now. No more four-stroke, not much.'

'Single- or double-acting?'

'For me, the single only.'

'You mean in the Skadi?'

'Ja, there. Two Burmeister and Wains.' The ship's name had gone past without a tremor.