Milton thought back to when he and Victoria had grown close. He remembered the brief fling that had developed as they realised that they had a lot of baggage in common: two drunks, both new in admitting their addictions, both slaves to their compulsive behaviours. It was not unusual for addicts to fall into ill-advised relationships, but Milton’s role as Victoria’s sponsor had raised the eyebrows of those perceptive enough to notice. He had wondered whether he would feel awkward coming here and seeing her again, but, so far at least, there had been none of that. She had an earthiness about her that he had always found attractive, and the fact that they had slept together was not something that she was going to be sensitive about. She had been refreshingly open and honest during their affair; she had made the first move and she had ended it, too. Milton had known that they had reached the end of the road, but had been too much of a coward to say anything. She didn’t have his hesitation, and the matter-of-fact way that she had sat him down and told him what she had decided had meant that they had been able to stay friends, and had cauterised any possibility of rancour. The clean break meant that there was no awkwardness now, too, and Milton was grateful all over again for her straightforwardness.

Milton clinked his glass against hers and took a sip of his drink. The liquid was white and ice cold and very sweet.

“This is lovely,” he said, peering at the glass. “What is it?”

“It’s called kopyor. Made from mutant coconuts.”

“Intriguing.” Milton laughed.

“Jean-Michel will explain it to you properly.” Victoria’s phone buzzed on the table between them. She picked it up and squinted at the screen. “His ears must be burning.” She read the text and frowned.

“Everything okay?”

“He’s working late. I was hoping he might be able to come and say hi, but maybe not.”

“Tomorrow, then?”

“For sure.”

“I’ll be here for a few days. There’ll be plenty of time.”

The two of them sat in companionable silence for a few moments, both content to watch the blood-red sun slip below the horizon. A beam of orange light reflected on the surface of the ocean like a shining path that led straight to them.

“Can I ask you a question?” Milton said.

“Sure.”

“What is it exactly that you’re doing here—for work, I mean?”

Victoria paused for a moment, then—perhaps remembering Milton’s own history—she shrugged and smiled. “I’m a fixer. If there’s a problem in the resort that needs sorting out, they ask me.”

“What kind of problem?”