It was late afternoon when Kevin came. From the large living-room window Pearly and Helen saw him arrive, and he knew to look up to them and wave even before getting out of the car. Pearly watched him take his small case from the boot and come casually to the house. A tall, well-built forty-year-old man, agile and strong, carrying the bag with ease. He had Helen’s fair hair and a high-bridged nose. Once again Pearly had the thought that Kevin could have been a sportsman if he’d put his mind to it, but putting his mind to things hadn’t been his strength.

‘You’re looking fit,’ said Pearly at the door.

‘Well we’re not all sitting on our bums in an office,’ said Kevin cheerfully. ‘You’re always on the move with boats, always something needs doing.’ He gave Helen a hug. ‘I hear you’re all set for a job at the hospital,’ he said. ‘Good for you. You’ll be great at it. You’re wasted just being at home.’

‘I’ve got out of the habit of set hours, though. That’s the trouble.’

‘You’ll hack it, no trouble, and it’s not full-time, is it?’

‘No, it’s a shared role,’ Helen said.

Kevin sat with a beer and talked of his trip down and his impression of driving through the town on arrival. ‘Nothing much changes, does it,’ he said. Pearly assumed he referred to the environs and wondered what transformation he’d expected. Pearly had noticed that the inhabitants of big countries and big cities often assumed that the physical superiority of their place of residence conferred a superiority on them personally as well.

‘Still the old Falcon, eh,’ said Kevin, looking out to Pearly’s car.

‘Buy quality and look after it,’ said Pearly. ‘What are you driving these days?’

‘The business gives me a runabout. At the moment I’m driving a Mazda 3.’

‘But you are the business, aren’t you?’

‘Pretty much,’ said Kevin. ‘My partner and me. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to see you while I’m down. This Dunedin trip is about the possibility of buying a fourteen-metre John Gladden motorsailer. An American couple sailed it from Nouméa, but it didn’t end happily. They’ve split up, and the boat’s up for grabs. I reckon I could do well with flipping it on at an Auckland sale.’