I face an open doorway.
'Why don't you close your eyes for a start?' He places a hand on my back. 'I can hold you, then get you into position.'
'Okay.'
As my breathing grows increasingly shallow, I lower my lids and immediately, his arms are around me, manoeuvring me slowly through the doorway from behind. I know I'm outside now. I can feel the sun on my face.
'Keep them closed,' he whispers into my ear. 'I'm just moving you a little further. Trust me.'
I'm gently urged on and then I come to a halt. With his arms clasped around my stomach, he pulls me back against his chest. His chin comes to rest on my shoulder.
'Maya?'
'Yes?'
'Are your eyes still closed?'
'Yes.'
'I've got you. You're not going to come to any harm. It's perfectly safe up here. Understand?'
I nod.
'There's a railing in front of you. The body of the lighthouse is behind you. I'm here and I'm not letting go. Open your eyes when you're ready.'
For a few seconds more, I cower in the darkness. And then I make the move. At first, I see nothing but my own eyelashes and through them, the glare of the sun.
'Breathe slowly.' His arms tighten around my midriff. 'Deeply. I've got you.'
I do as I'm told, raising my lids a little further. Slowly, my eyes begin to focus. Another breath and I can see it all: the island laid out below me, virtually flat, with only the hint of a hill in places. From up here, we can see right down to the far end.
'What do you think?
'It's beautiful.'
And it is.
To the right, the coast curves around on itself, neatly defined. To the left, it's a ramshackle collection of outcrops, islands and inlets. Everywhere I look, I see the same white roofs – a sprinkling here, a thicker collection there – scattered in amongst patches of grassland and the deep green of tree foliage. I raise my eyes to the dark strip of the horizon. Above it all, the sky's a cobalt blue today, touched by feathers of cloud.
'Feeling okay?'
I swallow, looking down at the lawn below us and the sharp features of cedar trees beyond.
'I might fall.'
'No way. I've got you.' He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. 'About twenty miles long and two miles wide. Over six hundred miles away from the nearest land mass.'
What's he trying to do now? Distract me from my fear with a few choice facts?
'We're in the middle of nowhere,' I comment, going along with it.
'Pretty much … And we're on top of a volcano.'
Now, I'm not entirely sure he should have added that bit. As my body stiffens, I hear him chuckle.
'Don't worry. It's extinct.' He points straight ahead. 'To the right, that's the South Shore.' He pauses, suddenly noticing a tiny but distinctly important fact: I'm not breathing. 'Take a breath, Maya.'
One consciously drawn breath follows another until my lungs finally seem to remember what they're supposed to do. Leaving the matter of breathing behind, I'm aware that my legs have turned to jelly. If Dan wasn't holding me up, I'd be flat on the floor by now.
'Nice and slow,' he whispers. 'Keep it going. You're doing brilliantly.'
'I'm shitting myself.' I glance down at my hands. They're shaking.
'I should hope not. Enough?'
'No.' I may be malfunctioning in just about every possible way, but I'm not ready to give up on being brave, not just yet. I can hear the pride in every word he speaks, and I want more.
'Okay,' he goes on. 'Hamilton to the left. The North Shore. That's where we're staying. Spanish Point.' He raises a hand, motioning vaguely. 'No sharks.'
I hear myself laugh. And then the laugh fades. We stand in silence for a few minutes, taking in the view. My heartbeat slows, my breathing settles back into a normal rhythm and all the time his arms remain clamped around me, keeping me safe.
'Take me to the other side,' I say at last.
'Really?'
'Really.' I squeeze his forearm. 'Before I chicken out.'
Slowly, he guides me to the other side of the lighthouse.
'Docklands.' He points. 'Right at the end. There's not so much to see on this side.'
I gaze at the ocean, the smattering of islands, and realise that I've lived with fear for too long. Chained up by its constrictions, it's kept so much hidden from me. But now those chains are slipping away.
'It's stunning.'
'You think?'
'I do.'
He kisses my cheek and we stand in silence for a little longer while I enjoy the view. Held tight in his arms, I'm loving it.
And more than that … I've stopped shaking.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Light dances across the scene, fairy-like, hopping from lily pad to lily pad, and in amongst the swirling mass of water, a clutch of delicate white lilies float just beyond the reach of the shadows. I stand in awe, transfixed by the colours, examining each and every brush stroke. I can barely believe what I'm looking at. If I'm not very much mistaken, this is a Monet.
'Do you like it?'
I turn to face Bill. Looking slightly ridiculous, he's sporting another pair of Bermuda shorts, matched with a white shirt, open at the collar. But it's the socks and sandals that really do it. Biting back the urge to giggle for the umpteenth time, I decide to press on with a conversation.
'It's amazing.' I aim my wine glass at the picture. 'It's real, isn't it?'
'No.' He smiles knowingly. 'I don't believe in keeping beautiful works of art to myself. The real one's in Belgium. This is a very good fake. I'm a sucker for the Impressionists. How about you?'
'I've got broad tastes.'
'The best kind to have.' He takes a sip of wine. 'Dan tells me you're a gifted artist.'
'Oh, I don't know about that.'
'He's pretty insistent. Landscapes?'
'Mostly.' I'll leave it at that. I'm not about to share the fact that I'm currently working on a strange nude triptych, desperately trying to figure out my new-found obsession with kink. 'I'm influenced by the Impressionists.'
'Then I must see your work.' He slips into silence for a few seconds, his eyes shifting with thought. 'He's a good man,' he says at last, gesturing towards the veranda where Dan's reclined on a wicker chair, watching the sunset.
I sense a rush of warmth in my chest.
'Yes, he is.'
'The pair of you seemed on edge this morning. Maybe you'd had a row?'
'A misunderstanding,' I half whisper. 'It's sorted now.'
'Good.' His lips pucker into a satisfied smile. 'You know he had a rough start in life.' It's a statement, not a question. I nod. 'And then there was the blow of John and Lydia.' He checks my reaction. I nod again. 'It hit him hard. All of it. But every single time, he picked himself up and got on with it. Just look at what he's done with Fosters.' He watches me. 'And now he's got you. He'll make you very happy, Maya. I know that.'
'He already does.'
He holds up his glass, raising an index finger at the picture. 'You scrape back the layers on this thing and pretty soon you'll find out it's not authentic.' And then he turns slightly, pointing at Dan. 'The real thing. Whatever misunderstandings you have, promise me now you'll sort them out.'
I give him a smile, wondering why it is that everyone in Dan's life feels the need to argue his corner. It's as if they all know it can't be an easy ride. But they all seem to be utterly determined for us to see it through.
'Good. Now, let's go and sit down. Dinner's about to be served.'
He leads me through the vast living area, out onto a veranda that looks over the sea. All around us, garden torches have been set. Flaring up against the shadows, they cast a magical, dancing light across the table top. And the sun's dipping now, the bright colours of day changing to deep reds, coppers, bronze and gold – soon to disappear altogether.
'It's cooler now, Dan,' Bill remarks, jolting him out of his daydream.
'Wonderful,' he murmurs.
'The cockroaches have been pretty bad this year.' The old man motions for me to sit before he takes his own place. 'Hey, you remember that time you brought Clive over? You must have been fourteen or fifteen.' He bites back a laugh. 'We had an infestation, Maya. Cockroaches everywhere. And those little buggers can fly. We were sitting right here, having a meal, and a big daddy of a cockroach flew straight at Clive's head. It near on knocked him out.'
Dan laughs. 'He ran inside and wouldn't come out again all evening.'
Bill calms himself.
'How's Clive doing?'
'Fine. He's got a new girlfriend. Maya's friend, Lucy.'
'Looks like you're both settling down. You know, Dianna never took to Clive.' He laughs again. 'Always moaning, complaining, scared of cockroaches, funny with his food. He wouldn't eat fish. That's what did it. This is an island, Maya. You've got to like fish.'
'He's alright now,' Dan assures him. 'He'll eat anything.'
'Then you must bring him back out here. And bring his young lady too. And when you have kids, bring them all!'
Dan smiles. 'We will.'
'Who's Dianna?' I ask, quickly brushing aside all mention of children.
'My wife. I came out here for a holiday, fell in love and we married a few weeks later. I lost her five years ago. She was the love of my life. We never had any children, not for lack of trying. Just couldn't. It would have been nice too, seeing the kids, the grandkids. But no. It's just me and my fake Monet.'