Hal left his chamber at dawn, his shoulder muscles sore from the hard swim. He wondered how his father’s were. Worse, he imagined. He stopped, transfixed, watching the sun rise over the mountains, filling the sky with gold against turquoise, before moving along the porch to the back of the house to look out over the sea. The crest of the headland caught the first shafts of sunshine, with Fort Charles squatting – guns bristling – pink and benign in such kind light. The water in the bay was shadowed, quicksilver and mirror-still, the illusion of solidity broken when pelicans dived for their breakfast. He turned, intending to go through the house to the kitchens, aware his own belly awaited sustenance and was beginning to complain of it. The sight of Sam sitting in the deep shadow outside his
