“I couldn’t in good conscience inflict your contrary nature on anyone else, Laurie.”

The words are light, but I’m reeling inside at his mention of my other men because there haven’t been any. When did I last have sex with anyone other than Laurie? I run over my calendar in my head and come to the disturbing conclusion that I’ve been virtually monogamous for the last month. Ironically, I’ve managed this while being in a no-strings relationship.

Laurie watches me. He’s smiling, but his eyes are dark and mysterious. “Don’t fret about it,” he says in his slightly hoarse voice. “I’ll be gone in a few days.”

I stride into the kitchen to try and disguise my betraying flinch. “Really? Is your brother back so soon?”

He drifts after me, grabbing his trainers from the side of the sofa. “Yes. He messaged me this morning. He’s finished and flies back late tomorrow night.”

“And what will you do then?” I trail my finger over the counter and the pile of mail there. It’s reaching overspill, with letters and envelopes spread over the surface in teetering stacks.

He shrugs. “I’ll go home. My time is up.”

There’s something odd about his voice, and I shake my head. “You sound like you’re going to drop dead the minute he walks through the door.”

He hesitates for a second but then he steps back and vanishes into the bedroom. “Of course not,” he calls. “I just meant that my time here is done. It’s time to get on with stuff.”

“What stuff?” I ask, walking over and leaning against the door to his bedroom. He’s pulling on khaki shorts and a fresh T-shirt the colour of honey. His body is long and slender, his skin a darker shade of gold from the sun, and his eyes look very bright in his tanned face.

“What?”

“You said you had stuff to sort out. What stuff?”

His gaze lands on mine and then flicks to the window. His fingers twist together, his knuckles white, his nails bitten. The silence swells, and I hold my breath.

He’s about to tell me something important. I’m a man with experience when it comes to confessions. But then his knees seem to give way and he sits on the side of the bed. He begins to put on his trainers, as though nothing has happened.

“Nothing important,” he says. “Just some business decisions.”

I don’t believe him. That wasn’t what he was going to say at all.

For a wild moment, I want to demand the truth, to shake him until his secrets fall out. I’m reasonably sure that if I pushed him now, he would tell me. But that goes against every atom of my life plan. I never get involved.