I took a long sip of the wine and sank back into the couch, glass in hand, allowing myself to feel the liberation from the roadhouse that Point Hicks afforded. Pete watched me. There was nothing in his manner to make me suspect he desired me. Then he started talking. He was casual, engaging, funny, coming up with yarns about his brother, explaining how he knew the lighthouse keeper, Simon—an old school friend. On and on he chatted. He told me Simon had come into an inheritance and it had been himself who’d encouraged Simon to renovate the keeper’s cottages.
‘You’re meant to be convalescing,’ I said with sudden concern, wondering if he would ever remove that beanie. ‘Isn’t it hard to keep the lighthouse?’
‘There’s nothing to do except flick a switch.’
‘Really?’
‘For two weeks, anyway. H
