Captive In The Millionaire's Castle. Lee Wilkinson

behind them and headed for the coast.

      ‘Half an hour or so.’

      Unwilling to ask direct questions, she suggested innocently, ‘Perhaps you could tell me something about the island?’

      ‘What do you know already?’

      ‘Apart from what I saw on that one short visit, and what you’ve already told me, nothing, really. I only know that it’s always fascinated me.’

      ‘Well, it’s roughly nine miles long by three wide. The higher ground is interspersed with pasture land, and, apart from some stands of pines, the only trees are the ones around Slinterwood.

      ‘Because the island has fresh water springs, it’s been inhabited for centuries, and for most of that time it’s been home to a rare breed of sheep similar to merinos, prized the world over for their fine, soft wool.

      ‘These days a lot of the farmland has been turned into market gardens, which produce organic fruit and vegetables for the top London hotels.’

      With a slight grin, he went on, ‘At the risk of sounding like a guidebook, I’ll just add that on the seaward side there are some pleasant sandy coves, ideal for summer picnics and swimming.’

      ‘It sounds lovely.’

      ‘It’s certainly picturesque.’

      She waited, hoping he’d tell her more about his connection with the island, and about the family who owned it.

      But he changed the subject by remarking, ‘One good thing about travelling at this time of the year is that there’s not too much traffic.’

      There proved to be less as they approached their destination. Even in high summer this part of the coast was relatively quiet, and now the coastal road was deserted in both directions as they joined the rough track that led down to the causeway.

      Glancing at the water, Michael remarked, ‘The tide must have turned some time ago.’

      ‘How can you tell?’ she asked.