He wore an eye patch – always would now – and you could tell that half of one bandaged hand was missing, but it didn’t stop him wrapping her in a fierce hug and clapping her on the back with strength enough to wind her.

‘How are you, Rhino? I called in at Shah’s villa looking for you, but the guy at the front desk said you’d gone for your morning walk.’

‘Same time every morning,’ he said. ‘The best way to get your health back is just to get out of bed every morning and chase it. Although I’m not as fleet on the hoof as I used to be.’

One of his knees was still wrapped in a compression dressing.

‘And was that your fine vessel I saw at anchor in the bay this morning, Miss Jules?’

‘No, it’s Shah’s. I’m taking it down to Sydney for him. As a favour, you know.’

The Rhino smiled. During the last month or two, the favours had been a one-way street. The old Gurkha had looked after both of them very well.

‘Come sit yourself down in the shade, Miss Julianne,’ he offered. ‘Be a shame to ruin that peaches-and-cream complexion of yours.’

The Rhino retrieved a dark wooden walking stick from where he’d leaned it up against the fence, waving her off when she tried to lend him a hand.

‘Prefer to haul my own fat ass around, if you don’t mind, Miss Jules. No offence. Bad habit for a Rhino to get into, letting others do the heavy lifting for him.’

‘Of course,’ she replied, taking a seat on a bench shaded by a small stand of mock olive trees, wrapped in a dark creeper heavy with electric orange flowers.

The water below them was an opalescent green, fading to a deep blue further out. She wondered how many hours a day he spent up here gazing off towards the horizon. America was out there somewhere beyond the edge of the world, what was left of it anyway.

He lowered himself carefully onto the perch. Jules winced involuntarily, imagining the discomfort of his burns and all that fresh scar tissue.

‘Did you see the news this morning?’ she asked. ‘Henry made the news. The real news, I mean, not just the blogs.’

‘Don’t have much time for the news these days,’ he said. ‘Just the weather and the fishing reports, and I can get those by sticking my head out the window or hobbling down to the coffee shop.’

She took a piece of folded newsprint from the pocket of her shorts. It was damp and frayed, but still legible. Both of his hands were bandaged, and one of them was missing three fingers. Jules unfolded the clipping and held it out for him to read.