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passes over the River Dee at a height of a hundred and twenty-six feet. It was completed in 1805, making it over two hundred years old, and is a World Heritage Site. We’re not allowed to stop the boat as we go over, but we’ll ask the skipper to slow her down as much as possible, so you can take pictures. Mind you don’t drop the camera overboard!’
    Many of the passengers stood, and the boat rocked a little. ‘Careful, now,’ said the guide. ‘Perfectly good view out the windows; we can’t have everyone at the door. Careful, there. Don’t crowd!’
    For despite his words, many of the younger passengers knotted around the door, which was open, with only a rope barring the way.
    I clutched Alan’s arm. ‘Alan, they mustn’t – there’s no guard rail!’
    There was a scuffle, a confusion of voices. A sound, something vaguely familiar . . . a scream, more screams.
    The boat rocked as everyone rose and tried to see what had happened.
    â€˜Quiet, everyone!’ The voice wasn’t loud, but it was commanding. ‘This is the skipper. There’s been an accident. We’ll stop as soon as possible, and meanwhile I’ll push her as fast as is safe. Please sit down and remain seated until you’re told you may move.’
    â€˜But what
happened
?’ questioned voices all over the boat.
    A pause. Voices from the front sounded like a private consultation between guide and skipper. Then the guide cleared his throat and told us in a shaky voice what we all, in our hearts, knew already. ‘One of the passengers has fallen overboard. We know no more than that. Please be patient until we reach a stopping place.’

THREE
    â€˜W hat happens now?’ I asked Alan in an undertone.
    â€˜I’m not sure exactly what the procedures are in Wales,’ he replied. ‘In England it would be turned over to the local police, who would find and identify the victim and try to determine how he, or she, happened to fall.’
    I shuddered. ‘There’s no chance at all, I suppose, that . . .’
    â€˜I’m afraid not, love. A fall of well over a hundred feet . . .’
    â€˜But the river was below. If he – she – whoever could swim . . .’
    â€˜The Dee is not terribly deep just here, my love. And it is very rocky.’
    He took my hand in a comforting grip and we sat in silence until the skipper spoke again.
    â€˜We’ll stop just ahead. There’s no mooring, but the canal is wide enough there that we can pull to the side. I’ve phoned Llangollen to explain, and they’ll stop our tour boats and phone the other companies. There’s nothing to be done about private boats except stop them one by one.’
    â€˜But why must we stay here? Why can we not get on another boat and go on to . . . to wherever we are going?’ It was a rich female voice, foreign in accent and peevish in tone, and others joined in her query.
    â€˜There has been an accident. Accidents must be investigated. The police will want to speak to anyone who might shed some light on the matter.’ The skipper sounded weary, but very much in command. This might be only a small canal boat, but he was as much master of it as the captain of the
Queen Mary
was of that huge liner, and he intended to keep control of his passengers.
    We bumped up against the side of the canal. Several of the passengers rose. Our guide, less genial than he had been before, reminded them rather sharply that they were to keep their seats. He also took a stance in the doorway (the hatch, I suppose it was properly called), with a muscular arm braced on either side.
    â€˜He doesn’t intend to let any of the malcontents make a break for it, does he?’
    â€˜And quite right, too,’ said Alan rather grimly. ‘There are a good many foreigners on this boat, if I’m any judge of accents, and one never knows how they’ll behave.’
    It