Kitabı oku: «Paradise Nights», sayfa 2

CHAPTER TWO

NICE? Nice? Pete Bennett had been called a lot of things by the women who sauntered through his life, but nice had never been one of them. It didn’t feel like a compliment. Okay, so he could, on occasion, be nice. Nothing wrong with that. But what if nice mutated into caring? What if caring morphed into really caring? Then where would he be?

Nope. Better to disabuse the bucket goddess of all nicehood fantasies immediately. Rolling his shoulders back for good measure, and with the spell she’d woven about him still clouding his mind somewhat, he headed across the courtyard after her.

The kitchen in the whitewashed cottage consisted of a fridge, a sink, a wall full of shelving laden with fresh food and a square central bench that doubled as a table. Simple, cosy, and, to Serena’s way of thinking, all about the food. She’d put a chicken—liberally seasoned with garlic and oregano—in the oven earlier, along with half a dozen salt-licked potatoes. A loaf of crusty bread and the fixings of a salad sat on the bench waiting to be sliced, diced, and tossed into a bowl just before serving. Serena came from a family of cooks, chefs, restaurateurs, and foodies. Cooking might not have been her first love, or even her second, but in her family there was no excuse for poor cooking.

Pete had followed her into the kitchen and now stood leaning against the doorframe. Judging by the dangerous gleam in his eyes, he’d used up his daily quota of nice on Sam. Serena didn’t mind a bit.

Nice was a bonus, certainly, but sexy, playful, and thoroughly entertaining would do just fine.

‘Call me curious,’ he said, ‘but if renting Vespas to tourists isn’t your lifelong ambition, why do it?’

‘Family,’ she muttered, taking a chunk of feta from the fridge and setting it on the bench alongside a wickedly sharp cutting knife. ‘All the grandchildren do a six-month stint helping out here. It’s my turn.’

‘What happens when all the grandchildren have had a turn? Does it rotate back to the beginning?’

‘Theoretically, that’s when the great-grandchildren step up. Unfortunately, the oldest great-grandchild is currently six and Nico and I are the last of the grandchildren. I think everyone was hoping one of us would fall in love with the lifestyle and offer to stay on indefinitely. Nico might,’ she said thoughtfully.

‘But not you?’

‘No. One more month and I’m gone.’

‘Where?’

“Well, now, that will depend on the jobs going at the time.’ And her chances of landing one of them. ‘I’m a photographer by trade. When it comes to education I majored in languages, with a slice of international politics on the side.’

He didn’t look as astonished as some. The ones who thought that, with a face like hers, she was far more likely to be on the other side of the camera. The ones who thought that, with a body like hers, brains were an unnecessary extra. ‘Right now I’m working on a postcard series for the Greek tourism authority but as soon as I finish my stint here I’ll be chasing a photojournalism slot, preferably with one of the global media groups.’

‘You’ll do well,’ he said.

‘I will?’ She couldn’t quite hide her astonishment. Not the usual reaction when she told someone her plans.

‘Yeah. Your looks will get you noticed, your intellect will tell you when there’s a story to chase, and your people skills will get you the information you need. It’s a good choice for someone with your particular skill set.’

Serena sliced the bread, sliced the cheese and stuck them together before holding it out to him with a smile. ‘Just for that you get an appetiser. Possibly even dessert.’

He took the sandwich with a grin. ‘I hear it’s a very competitive field. You’ll need ambition as well. How bad do you want it, Serena?’

Bad enough to have queried every major global newspaper and some not so global ones about upcoming positions every month for the last five months. ‘Trust me, I’ve got the ambition thing covered. Maybe in the past I’ve let family commitments keep me from pursuing this type of career, but not this time. This time I’m determined to get where I’m going.’

‘Just as soon as you get off this island,’ he said with a hint of dryness that she chose to ignore.

‘Exactly.’

‘So technically speaking, apart from the Vespas, the postcard photography, and keeping an eye on your grandparents, you’re a free agent this coming month.’

‘That’s me.’ Damn but he was appealing. ‘And my grandparents are visiting both sides of the family on the mainland at the moment. They left this morning, so you can count them out of the equation for a couple of months. You?’

‘I’ll be flying these skies until Tomas recovers the use of his leg. Six.eight weeks. Maybe longer.’

‘And then?’

He shrugged. ‘There’s an offer from an Australian mining company to run a charter-flight operation for them in Papua New Guinea. It’s a good offer.’

‘Yes, but is it ethical?’

‘What they’re doing or what I’d be doing?’ he countered with a quick smile, and Serena figured she had her answer.

‘So you flit,’ she said dryly. ‘From one flying job to another.’

‘I like to think there’s a big-picture plan somewhere in amongst it all,’ he said mildly.

‘Ever thought about settling down?’

‘You mean some place permanently or with a woman?’

‘Either.’

‘No.’

Serena closed her eyes, muttered a prayer. As far as potential short-term romantic interludes were concerned, the man was utterly, mouth-wateringly perfect.

‘Did you just whimper?’ he said, eyeing her closely. ‘I thought I heard someone whimper.’

‘No whimpering here.’ Much. ‘What can I get you to drink? Water, wine?’ She gestured towards the glass of white wine already on the bench. ‘I’m already set.’ She didn’t wait for an answer, just headed for the fridge. She thought it best to keep busy, keep that whimpering to an absolute minimum. Water, wine, she grabbed both and set them in front of him. ‘Help yourself.’

He did, reaching for a couple of tumblers on the shelf nearby before pouring water for them both. He snagged another glass, a wineglass this time, and filled that too, his fingers long and lean around the neck of the bottle … fingers that looked as if they could deliver anything a woman could possibly want, from a feather-light stroke to firm and knowing pressure in all the right places.

‘There it goes again,’ he said. ‘That sound.’

‘Could be the tabby cat hereabouts. She’s very noisy.’

Pete looked at the curled and sleeping cat over in the corner of the kitchen, her head firmly tucked beneath one paw. ‘You mean that cat?’

‘Yes.’ She said it with an utterly straight face and Pete’s admiration for her rose immeasurably. ‘That cat.’

They ate from the picnic table in the courtyard, with the cottage nestled into the hillside behind them and the sea spread out before them like a promise.

‘So how many brothers do you have?’ Pete asked between bites of truly divine roast chicken. Chicken like this could quite conceivably make a man change his mind on the issue of not wanting a woman to come home to each night.

Serena held up two fingers and he smiled. Two brothers and an overprotective cousin wasn’t so bad.

‘I saw that smile,’ she said darkly. ‘And if you figure you can handle them you’re wrong. They’re half Greek. And if you’re talking extended family—and with my family you should—I also have two brothers-in-law, a father, three uncles, and half a dozen male cousins my age or older. Nico is the most liberal-minded of the lot.’

‘Ah.’ That was quite a list of protective males. Doubtless she’d driven them insane during her teenage years. ‘Bet your first date went well.’

‘You have no idea,’ she muttered. ‘I thought he’d be all right. He had a very cool car and a bad-boy reputation. A smile that promised heaven. They were waiting for him out in the front yard when he came to pick me up. My father and my uncle.’ Her eyes flashed with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. ‘They’d brought home a fish from the morning’s catch and were gutting it when he pulled up. With ten inch boning knives.’

‘Sounds reasonable,’ said Pete. ‘Although I can see how you might consider the knives a touch melodramatic.’

‘It was a six-foot shark.’

‘Oh.’ He felt a smile coming on.

‘And don’t you dare laugh!’

‘No, ma’am. But I am impressed.’

‘We didn’t even get to the cinema. The poor boy took me to a burger drive-through, fed me hot chips and a sundae, and had me home within half an hour. He’s probably still running.’

‘Just for the record, I’d have bought you a burger as well.’ He topped up her wineglass, reached for another slice of bread. ‘I have three brothers, a father, and one sister. Hallie’s the youngest.’

‘No mother?’

‘Nope. She died when I was a kid. My father took it hard, pulled back. My brothers and I took over the raising of Hallie. You’d like her. You could swap stories. My youngest brother could get downright creative when it came to deterring her more persistent suitors. He works for Interpol these days. He’d have loved a shark as a prop.’

‘Are you sure you don’t have any Greek ancestry in you?’

‘Not a drop.’

‘What’s your position on trust and honour?’

‘As in Nico trusting me not to hit on you?’

She nodded.

‘It’s damn near killing me.’

Her smile sliced through him, wicked with challenge. ‘But you are sticking to it.’

‘Barely.’ The meal had more than satisfied Pete’s appetite for food, and dusk was warming up the crowd for the coming of night. The air lay heavy with the scent of jasmine and he was self-aware enough to know that if he didn’t leave soon his honour wouldn’t be worth a drachma. ‘Close your eyes,’ he told her. ‘Think back to that bad boy with his own car and a smile like a promise.’

‘Why?’ But she did as he asked, her back to the table, her elbows resting behind her, and her head tilted back a fraction as if to catch the moonlight.

‘Work with me here,’ he murmured. ‘You’ve been to the cinema and you’re on your way home. The car stereo’s blaring, the windows are down, the wind is in your hair, and your bad boy has forgotten all about your father’s shark-carving skills. He’s young and reckless, and so are you.’

Her lips curved. ‘And then?’

‘He pulls up outside your front yard.’

‘Does he stop the engine?’

‘No. He’s not insane. He’s planning on a quick getaway.’

Her eyes were still closed. ‘Where’s the shark?’

‘Your father and uncle are hauling the last of it into the freezer. The timing’s perfect.’

‘For what?’ she whispered.

‘This.’ He brushed his lips over hers, a fleeting touch, nothing more, and pulled away. He planned to end it then, to say goodnight and get the hell out of temptation’s way, but her eyes were still closed and before he knew it his lips were on hers again, questing, cajoling, because this time, this time he wanted a response.

He got one.

Serena had played his game because she wanted to. Because she was curious as to what this man with his come to bed eyes and go to hell grin could bring to an evening, a moment, a kiss.

He brought plenty.

A taste so wild and delicious she shuddered. A mouth so firm and knowing she responded instinctively, following his lead with lips and with tongue in a dance as old as time. She wanted more, slid her hand to his cheek, to the nape of his neck in search of it, taking the kiss deeper as she sought the recklessness in him, that piece of him that courted danger, revelled in it, and came back for more. She found it.

And the kiss turned wild.

He murmured something, a deep-chested rumble that sounded like a protest but felt like surrender, and took her under.

Her mind had clouded over by the time the kiss ended, the rapid pulsing of her blood at odds with the languid slide of her hand from around his neck. She leaned back, elbows on the table, and watched as he struggled to surface, clawing his way out of the kiss in much the same way she had, and not bothering to hide how hard he found it.

She liked that about him. She liked it a lot.

‘Damn but he’s gonna break some hearts, kissing like that,’ she murmured.

‘So are you.’

She made a small hum of pleasure. ‘Tell him to kiss me again.’

‘No. If he does he’ll be lost and he doesn’t want that. Besides, the porch light has just come on and it’s way past time to be leaving.’

‘Does he come back?’

‘Try keeping him away. It’s your first kiss, maybe his third, but from that moment on there’s a part of him that’ll always be yours.’

She smiled, enchanted by his whimsy.

‘Thank you for the meal,’ he said softly. ‘Serena?’

‘What?’

‘I’ll honour Nico’s trust in me tonight, but next time I see you I’ll be asking you out to dinner. I’ll be holding you at the end of the evening. I’ll be around these next few weeks. I’ll be taking up some of your free time.’

She liked his high-handedness. She liked it a lot.

‘And Serena?’ He stood and looked down at her, looking for all the world like a dark angel fallen straight from the sky. ‘I don’t give a damn how big the shark is.’

CHAPTER THREE

PETE BENNETT lived to fly. Nothing could change that. Nothing ever had. It was simple fact that he was at his happiest with one hand on the throttle and the other on the joystick of a helicopter that responded to his slightest touch. Oh, he had his favourites, everyone did, and luckily old Tomas’s Jet Ranger was one of them. She was no Seahawk—equipment-wise she was a purely civilian fit—but she had a light touch and he was close to the sea, and for now that was enough.

And if at times skimming low across the water put him in mind of other far more dangerous flights and missions, well, that couldn’t be helped. A man like him did his damnedest to ignore the insistent knocking of the past in favour of whatever else was in front of him.

A man like him took great pains to ensure that whatever was in front of him had a certain basic appeal.

Island-hopping with a cargo of two tourists looking to overnight on a sleepy Greek island, for example, had enough basic appeal in the shape of meeting up with Serena again to drive every unwanted memory from his body.

He touched down at Sathi, Varanissi’s picturesque seaport, just on three in the afternoon, unloaded his passengers, and herded them towards the hotel, their bags slung over his shoulder with his own.

The fiery Chloe was nowhere to be seen as he saw them checked in and arranged to meet them again at nine the following morning. He wasn’t as lucky when it came to the boy, Sam. The kid had appeared in the foyer as he’d arrived and had been hovering ever since. When Pete made to leave, young Sam ventured forward.

‘You’re not staying here?’ he said.

Pete shook his head. ‘I’m staying up at Nico’s. In Tomas’s room.’

‘Oh.’ Sam paused, as if weighing his options. ‘I’m heading up that way too. To see Nico. I could show you a short cut if you want.’

He knew the path the boy was talking about. He’d taken it before, with Nico. And opened his mouth to say so.

But Sam had already read him. Pete watched, eyes narrowing, as bleak resignation flashed across the kid’s face, just before he lifted his chin and looked away. How the hell did a kid get to be so streetwise and still be so soft? He didn’t know. But it got to him. ‘Fine,’ he said, perversely pleased by Sam’s surprise. ‘I figured I’d head on up to the Vespas and say hello to Serena after that. Join me if you want. I could use the company.’ This much was true. He’d be far less tempted to reach for Serena within moments of seeing her if he had Sam with him.

Given the wildness of his fantasies about her, that was probably a good thing.

* * *

Four days. Four endless summer days. That was how long Serena had been waiting for that damn helicopter to fly over and land on the island and even then she waited another hour for the pilot of the cursed machine to put in an appearance at her brand-new blue beach umbrella by the rusty Vespa shed. By that time Serena had replayed the memory of Pete Bennett’s kisses at least a thousand times and every cell in her body was screaming for more. The man was a genius.

But he wasn’t alone. Sam tagged alongside him, wary and silent but nonetheless there. So much for wrapping herself around Superman right then and there.

Make that evil genius.

‘Hey, sailor,’ she said, smiling at Sam who’d finagled a morning out on Nico’s boat tomorrow. Tomorrow being Saturday, and that being the deal he’d made with Chloe if he went to school all week. ‘Got a message for you. Nico said he’ll swing by on his way down to the dock at around four-thirty a.m. Speaking from experience, you’d better be ready because the tide waits for no man and neither does Nico. Wear a jumper and a hat and don’t worry about gloves. He’s found some for you that’ll fit.’

Serena watched as Sam’s face lit up like the sun, a fleeting grin, gone almost as soon as it had arrived but she’d caught it nonetheless, along with a hefty dose of hero-worship for her cousin. ‘Meanwhile, there’s a Vespa been coughing and spluttering and I need someone to take it around the paddock a few times to see if it gives any grief.’

‘What’s in it for me?’ said Sam.

‘Experience,’ she said dryly, handing him a helmet.

‘It just so happens that the bike you’ll be trialling could well be the second-fastest bike on the island.’

‘So Aunt Chloe went for it?’ asked Pete as they watched Sam fasten the helmet, start the bike and ride slowly along the fence line. ‘That’s the second-fastest bike on the island?’

‘Well, no. Not any more. Maybe thirty years ago.’ Right now, it was the slowest ride she had. ‘And Chloe caved two days ago after two more trips to the principal’s office on account of our friend here’s somewhat disquieting habit of disappearing from school around mid-morning and failing to return.’ The bike coped with the downhill run easily enough, but coughed and groaned all the way up the hill. ‘I think it needs a new spark plug.’

‘That or a decent burial,’ muttered Pete.

‘We don’t discard our old around here. It’s just not done,’ she told him. ‘And it’s about time you showed up.’

Pete Bennett smiled. ‘Miss me?’

‘Maybe. Did you miss me?’

‘Of course. How many goddesses of buckets and sensuality do you think I know?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Never mind. I tried to get back here earlier,’ he murmured. ‘Unfortunately, not many people know about this place. It’s a hard sell. Maybe you should hurry up with those postcards.’

‘Maybe I will.’ She eyed his carryall speculatively, wondering how Sam had found him so fast, wondering exactly how long he was staying this time. ‘Are you staying overnight?’

He nodded. ‘What time do you finish up here?’

‘The last of the bikes should be back by five, give or take half an hour,’ she told him. ‘Why? What did you have in mind?’

‘I’m thinking of taking a stroll up the hill.’

‘What hill?’ She followed his gaze to the mountain looming behind them. ‘Oh. That hill.’ She’d climbed it before. It wasn’t easy. ‘That’s a big hill.’

‘Sam says there’s a path to the top.’

‘Well, yes. There is. If you’re a goat.’

‘And that you can see the entire island when you get to the top.’

There was that.

‘Bring your camera. You might catch the sunset.’

She’d been here for five months, four days, and counting. She’d photographed everything more times than she cared to remember, including the sunset. ‘I’ll need more incentive than that.’

‘It’s good exercise.’

‘Boy, do you have a lot to learn about women and incentive.’

‘C’mon, Rena. Haven’t you ever wanted to touch the sky?’

He had the soul of a poet. The smile of a devil. Serena couldn’t resist either. ‘All right. I give in. We’ll walk to the top and touch the sky.’

His smile promised more, much, much more, and she knew for a fact he could deliver. ‘You won’t regret it,’ he murmured.

‘I never do.’

* * *

It was half past five before the last of the bikes were locked away for the night and Serena had shooed Sam home. Closer to six by the time they’d taken her cooler and the cashbox down to the cottage. There was enough daylight left for getting up the hill. Not nearly enough daylight for getting back down. Serena picked up a small canvas bag and went in search of a torch and a couple of bottles of water before slinging it over her shoulder. ‘Ready?’

With a gesture that came as automatically to him as breathing, Pete removed the bag from her shoulder and slung it over his. ‘Lead on.’

She led him behind the cottage and across the bitumen road to where the goat track began. If there was one thing she’d become used to on Varanissi, it was walking up hills. Her body had grown quite fond of it; her legs no longer gave protest. She was healthy. Fit. And still she had the feeling that if necessary, Pete Bennett with his lazy stride and easy breathing could have taken the slope at a dead run. She picked up the pace, figuring that if she had to exercise she might as well make it worthwhile.

Half an hour later they reached their destination, a desolate plateau dropping away sharply on three of its four sides, but what the rocky, barren plateau lacked in visual appeal it more than made up for with its panoramic view of the village and harbour below.

The island had charm; she’d give it that. And the people on it were as good as you’d find anywhere. Maybe better.

But the world was bigger than this, and so were Serena’s dreams. Pete Bennett knew how to dream big too. She could see it in the way he looked to the sky, sense the restlessness in him, a burning need to keep moving, keep going … to run, and to fly. ‘You love it, don’t you? Being up here.’

‘Yeah,’ he said simply, looking skyward. ‘It’s the next best thing to being up there.’

‘Why helicopters?’ she asked. ‘Why didn’t you choose to fly planes?’

‘I’ve flown both,’ he said. ‘But helicopters are more sensitive, more tactile machines than planes. Planes are all about power. Helicopters are about finesse.’

‘You fly planes too?’

He flashed her a grin. ‘Serena, I fly everything.’

‘Have you always wanted to fly?’

‘Ever since I was old enough to sit on my sainted mother’s knee at Richmond RAAF base and watch the pilots practise their touch and gos.’

‘I’ll take that as an always. What’s a touch and go?’

‘You bring the plane in, touch down, and then take off again, all in the same run. What about you?’ He gestured towards the camera around her neck. ‘Has it always been photography for you?’

‘Not always. I’ve done lots of things. Managed restaurants, designed their interiors, done the branding work for the family seafood outlets, written articles for magazines. But I keep coming back to my camera and the stories a picture can tell.’ She took a mouthful of water. Watched as Pete did the same, slaking his thirst the same way he’d climbed the hill: effortlessly and with every appearance of enjoyment. ‘So you spent a goodly portion of your childhood hanging over the fence of the local RAAF base. What then? How did you become a pilot?’

‘I was all set to join the Air Force but somewhere along the way I got to stand on a deck full of Navy Seahawks and that was it for me. Nothing else would do.’

‘You joined the Navy?’ It didn’t seem to fit with his carefree bad-boy image. ‘What about the discipline? All those rules and regulations? Dedication to duty?’

‘What about them?’ He shot her a quizzical glance.

She figured she might as well give it to him straight. ‘You don’t seem the type.’

‘Look harder,’ he offered, his voice noticeably cooler.

Good idea. Excellent idea. She slipped the cap from her camera and studied him through the lens. ‘Okay, I’m seeing it now.’ But only because he was letting her see. This was a part of himself that playboy Pete Bennett preferred to keep hidden. She took the shot, and then another. ‘So how long were you in the Navy?’

‘Regular squadron? Seven years.’

‘And then?’

‘Then I transferred to air-sea search and rescue helicopters for a while.’

‘For how long?’ There was something about his expression that didn’t invite questions.

‘Eight years.’

He looked away, all shut down, but not before she’d caught with her camera a hint of pain that ran deep. She wondered at it, wondered why a man who’d spent fifteen years in service to others was currently flying tourists around these islands and contemplating hauling cargo around PNG. A man didn’t walk away from the kind of work he’d been doing for no reason. Did he? ‘Do you miss it?’

‘Miss what?’

‘The howling winds and heaving seas. The adrenalin rush that’d come with battling the elements and saving lives. It’s pretty heroic stuff.’

‘I’m not a hero, Serena. Far from it. Paint me as one and you’ll be in for disappointment,’ he said quietly.

‘Thanks for the warning,’ she countered dryly. ‘You know, my father is a fourth-generation fisherman. My brothers are fishermen. My cousins are fishermen. I know who they look to for miracles when the sea turns ugly and a vessel goes down. I know what you used to do.’

‘I don’t do it any more.’ The reckless charmer had disappeared, and in his place stood a complex warrior. The rogue had been irresistible enough. The warrior was downright breathtaking. ‘Take your photos,’ he said, but she already had and they wouldn’t be appearing on any picture postcard.

‘C’mere,’ she said softly and he looked towards her, wary and wounded for reasons she couldn’t fathom, his dark glare daring her to probe and prod for answers he didn’t want to give only she was done with questions for now. First rule of interviewing was to read your mark and when you’d pushed them as far as they’d go, pull back and come at them later from a different direction.

He stepped up in front of her, big and brooding, his hands in his pockets and his expression guarded. ‘Closer,’ she said, and set her hand to his chest and lightly bussed his lips. ‘That’s for stepping up to protect your country—even if you were seduced into it by a bunch of Navy helicopters.’ She set her lips to his again and let them linger a fraction longer, watching as his eyes darkened. ‘And that’s for putting your life on the line to save others, day in, day out, for eight years.’ She slid her hand to his shoulder and this time her kiss was more than a whisper. She felt his response, saw with satisfaction the heat of the kiss chase the shadows from his eyes.

‘What was that for?’ he muttered.

‘Dinner,’ she said, sauntering away towards the southern edge of the plateau. ‘You are taking me to dinner, aren’t you?’

He took her to dinner. To the little restaurant high in the hills where the fish stew was reputed to taste like ambrosia and the air was thin enough to have him breathing deep whenever Serena looked at him. She wore a cream-coloured dress, low cut, square necked, with delicate shoulder straps. It had little buttons all the way down the front, buttons that drove a man to distraction whenever he looked at them, and she knew it, her smile told him so and her eyes dared him to call her on it. ‘That’s quite a first-date dress.’ His lips brushed her hair as he saw her seated. ‘But it’s not blue.’

‘You were expecting the blue?’ she said and her eyes were laughing.

‘I was looking forward to it,’ he said. ‘With a great deal of anticipation, I might add.’

‘Sorry to disappoint.’

‘You haven’t. I’ll continue to look forward to it.’

‘I’m saving it,’ she said.

‘For what?’

‘The Trevi Fountain.’

Good call. He knew this game of seduction well. He loved the playing of it, the hunt and the chase. Loved it when his quarry provided a challenge. And heaven help him the woman sitting opposite knew exactly how to do just that.

‘Unfortunately my chances of venturing that far afield are somewhat limited at the moment,’ she added with a sigh. ‘And I suspect you’re tied to Tomas’s charter operation as well. Fortunately for you I’ve had another idea.’ She leaned back in her chair and smiled. ‘It involves no fountain and no blue dress whatsoever, but it does involve water.’ He was all ears. And damned if she didn’t smile and change the subject. ‘Tell me about your family.’

‘I’ve already told you about them,’ he said.

‘Tell me more.’

He usually didn’t. But this time, in this place, he relaxed into his seat and offered up more. ‘My father lives in Sydney. He’s an academic—a scholar of ancient Chinese pottery. My sister is married and lives in London. She inherited our father’s passion for pots. Then there’s Tristan, who works for Interpol. He got married at Christmas and is back living in Sydney.’ Pete shook his head at the wonder of that particular notion. ‘Then there’s Luke. He’s older than Tris, younger than me. He’s a Navy SEAL.’ Pete toyed with his bread and butter knife, would have left it at that, but Serena wasn’t chasing a career in photojournalism without having mastered the finer art of persistence.

‘You said you had three brothers,’ she prompted him with a smile. ‘There’s one more.’

‘Jake.’ Thoughts of Jake always came with a serve of guilt. That he hadn’t helped him out more when their mother had died. That he hadn’t shouldered more of the responsibility. ‘He’s a couple of years older than me and runs a handful of martial arts dojos in Singapore.’

‘So your family is scattered all over the globe.’

‘More or less.’

‘My immediate family live in Melbourne. All of them. I can’t imagine them living anywhere but in each other’s pockets.’

‘Is this a bad thing?’ he asked curiously.

‘Hard to say.’ She shrugged. ‘Everyone always knows what everyone else is doing. Whether that’s a bad thing tends to depend on whether they approve of what you’re doing. If they don’t …’ She shrugged again.