It all came together in a hodgepodge of styles that somehow worked—Queenstown chic. It was charming.

The cadence of the town, however, was a little odd. The footpaths were busy and there were many times when James and I had to stop holding hands as we walked. It seemed that most people were either gawping or rushing, and it was obvious who was visiting and who lived there. I wondered if the locals wished everyone would bugger off and leave them to their mountainous-lakeside paradise.

James must have been thinking along the same lines. “This is not exactly the relaxing walk I was thinking of,” he said, after we dropped hands for the umpteenth time to get around a family of tourists who’d stopped in the middle of the footpath. While we didn’t have a destination in mind, just content to see where we ended up, it was becoming clear that we needed a game plan.

“What about over there?” I asked. We were on the waterfront and I could see across a small bay to what looked like a giant park of forested land. “That might have a nicer pace, somewhere for us to soak it all in.”

“That’s the Queenstown Gardens,” he said, adding, “and a brilliant idea.” He grabbed my hand again and as we walked briskly around the waterfront, our destination in sight, dodging tourists became a game.

“Seventeen,” I said as we entered the gardens.

“What’s seventeen?”

“The number of tourist dodges on the way here.” I grinned at him and he smiled back, seeming a little less enthused with my game than I was. I suddenly felt foolish.

“There’s a track bordering the whole garden,” said James, saving me from a bout of self-flagellation. “Let’s head this way.” We made our way to the track that traced the shoreline of the promontory, and the view back across the water reinforced my impression of the town—it was stunning.

“I never asked you how long it’s been since you were here,” I said after a few minutes of silence that felt like many more.

“It’s been a few years.”

“But you’ve come here a lot?”

“Well, not as much as I would have liked. It’s a fair way from London, of course, so I’ve only really added it as a side jaunt when I’ve been in Australia, and once when I was in Chile, which I realise isn’t that close by, but it’s in the same hemisphere at least, and I suppose it’s all relative.”

I wondered if the last bit was about geography, time, or the cost of flying to New Zealand from South America. It’s all relative when you have a bunch of money and get to fly business class. At least, I was guessing he flew business class. Maybe for long-haul flights he was right in the nose cone.

Even though it had only been a three-hour flight from Sydney, I’d certainly appreciated the wider seats and extra legroom of business class—and the endless glasses of bubbles. If you’re with James, you’ll always fly like that. It was a fun thought, but not remotely helpful. I needed to decide how I felt about James, not his money.