Langham had switched off the electric lights. The dim glow of an oil lamp was coming from his room, along with a hissing sound that I had never heard before. I stepped inside, hoping that I had not left the shape of my cheek on his pillow.

The bedroom was empty. Langham had not stopped to sit down. Instead, his clothes were strewn in a trail across the floor, towards his private bathroom. His dark jacket, torn across the sleeve, a sodden tie, gritty shoes and the salt-stained trousers, and finally, a shirt, its cotton pink with blood.

I forgot how to do anything except walk. The bathroom door was open, the soft, flickering light reflecting back from the tiles. I stepped inside.

The hissing sound was that of the shower above the bath tub. Langham stood beneath it, his head tipped back, his eyes closed. The water cascaded over his naked body, across tanned shoulders and down his torso, across his hips, his buttocks, his slim legs, the hair bleached gold by the sun. As I stood there, he raised his arm and blood joined the flow of the water, spiralling from a long cut above his elbow.

A second later, he slicked the water from his face and looked at me.

‘Did you bring the brandy?’ His voice was low. I nodded, and held out the bottle.

He pulled the cork and drank, his throat funnelling the liquor into his belly. My eyes strayed downwards, until – face flaming – I had to turn away.

‘I’ll get some bandages.’ My voice sounded odd, echoing. I opened the chest and stared at the items. Finally, I made sense of them, and found a bottle labelled iodine. Behind me, the water was shut off with a squeak. I heard Langham sigh, and step from the tub. ‘Here,’ I said, holding up the bottle. ‘This should …’

A touch on my shoulder, and I looked up into the mirror. Langham was standing behind me, but in that misted surface, I wasn’t certain which was his face and which was my own.

‘Leave it,’ he said.

I could feel the heat of his naked body through my clothes. His hand moved from my shoulder to my chin.

‘Alejandro.’ His fingers brushed my lips. ‘Why can’t I trust you?’

‘You can.’ I hardly knew what I was saying. His other hand found the side of my leg, my thigh, moving upwards. ‘You can trust me.’

The bottle of iodine fell into the box as his fingers trailed from my lip, to loosen my tie, to release the top button of my shirt.

I froze. A second later I was pushing myself away.

‘I can’t.’ I scrabbled for the shirt’s button. ‘You don’t know—’

‘Don’t know what?’ He came forwards, naked still, to grip my arms. ‘Tell me.’