Maxwell's Island by M.J. Trow Page A

February.’
    â€˜That would be nice.’ He dropped a furtive kiss on her ear. All the kids were looking down at the ground, and anyway, surely one could kiss one’s wife’s ear even on a school trip. ‘You are a lovely woman,’ he remarked.
    â€˜Indeed I am,’ she said. ‘And I must say, it’s nice not to have the phone going all the time.’
    Maxwell looked around, at the cliffs and the sea stretching away to the misty Dorset coast, hardly visible in the distance. ‘As you may know,’ he said, ‘my name is not exactly a byword when mobile phone technocrats gather, but I would be surprised if you have a signal here.’
    She pulled her phone out of her pocket and turned it, squinting in the sun. ‘For once,’ she said, ‘you are right. Nothing. Not even one bar.’
    â€˜Never mind,’ he said, releasing her hand and draping his arm across her shoulders. ‘It’s not as if anyone would be trying to get in touch with us. And don’t mention “bar” to Pansy.’
    Suddenly, the air was split by a scream.
    Sasha had found the crab.

Chapter Five
    At the top of the cliff path, Maxwell regrouped his troops and inspected them and their finds. One girl in particular had managed an amazing haul of fossil coral and was full of plans for a career as a palaeobotanist. So, thought Maxwell, if that’s all that comes of this week, it has been a success. He remembered her from when she had visited the school in Year Six; it wasn’t often a ten-year-old was so adamant that she wanted to be a nail technician. Onwards and upwards. Nolan had some good finds as well, even discounting the crab, from which he had been separated with a few tears on his part. The crab had been quite grateful to be put in a rock pool and didn’t show any distress at the parting. Jacquie took the opportunity to edge away from the group and check her phone. Maxwell looked after her and stifled a sigh. Once a woman policeman, always a woman policeman was his guess. He saw her bend her head and put her finger in the other ear. He heardher say, ‘Are you sure?’ and, ‘Is he all right?’ His heart slowed and then sped up far beyond its usual rate. He had all he loved within sight, so the news couldn’t be too bad – not for him at any rate. But he could never forget the loss of his first wife and his daughter; a siren, a flashing blue light, an unexpected phone call, the woman he loved with solemn face and a finger in her ear – any one of those things could make him feel sick with apprehension.
    She turned back to the group, pocketing her phone, looking thoughtful.
    â€˜Mr Maxwell,’ she called. ‘Could I have a word with you?’
    The distance couldn’t have been more than a few yards, but it felt like miles. He cleared his throat. ‘Certainly,’ he said.
    When he was by her side, she held his arm. ‘That was Henry. He had texted me to ring him.’
    â€˜Do you have to go?’ he asked. Relief flooded through him. No one was dead. It was just work. Annoying, but there it was; he had been half expecting it anyway.
    â€˜Well, it depends.’ She looked over his shoulder. Nolan was playing happily with the others and was out of earshot. ‘Mrs Troubridge has had an accident. It seems she fell down the stairs. The neighbours from across the road found her. Metternich was sitting outside her door meowing.’
    â€˜The Count? Meowing?’
    â€˜I think the term used was caterwauling. Theneighbour went over to give him a smack round the head to shut him up. Then he realised that Metternich was outside the wrong door and got suspicious. He looked through the letter box and could just see Mrs Troubridge’s foot on the bottom stair.’
    â€˜Is she all right?’
    â€˜She’s in hospital. She is in quite a bad way, but stable.’
    Maxwell felt awful about the next question, but he