“Maybe we have a guest who gets into trouble with the police. Someone doesn’t pay and does a runner—I’ll go and track them down and persuade them that they need to settle their debts. Or maybe there’s an issue with Laskar Bali.”

“Which is?”

“The Balinese gangsters.”

“They have gangsters here?”

She smiled at his faux naivety. “They call themselves premans—means ‘free men.’ They do some legitimate work—security, mostly—but most of the time it’s extortion, prostitution, drugs. All the usual highlights. It might not be glamorous, and it’s sometimes a little grubby, but the way I see it, we used to do grubby work when we were at the Firm, and this pays better than it did back then. They’ve given me a nice truck and I can live rent-free. Everything I could ever want is here.”

Milton saw a look of contentment pass across his friend’s face, and he felt a momentary pang of envy.

The two spent the next hour catching up. Victoria told Milton story after story about life in Bali and the work she did for the hotel. She told him about Jean-Michel, about how he had had a problem with coke when he had worked as a sous-chef in Paris and how both of them being in recovery meant that they were perfect for each other. Milton side-stepped her questions about what he had been doing since they had last spoken, preferring instead to keep things vague. Victoria knew enough of Milton’s past to know not to push too hard, and Milton was relieved that he was allowed to skim across the surface of things.

Victoria eventually moved the conversation around to Sakura. Milton told her everything that had happened, from the meeting at the airport to his unexpected upgrade, from her sudden sickness to her confession and how he had helped her to get into the country.

“What are you going to do with her now?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“You saved her life already.”

“She still has problems that she doesn’t know how to solve.”

“But you do?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

Milton took a slice of mango and ate it. The flesh was succulent, full of juice and delicious. He took another.

“Good, right?”

“Very.”

Milton leaned back and ate the mango. He looked out at the pool, at the children who were still frolicking with inflatables, and imagined what life might have been like if he and Victoria had stayed together. It was a fool’s errand, and he knew it; he dismissed the thought.

“So,” she said, as if sensing his momentary discomfort. “Your new legend.”

“Have you had a chance to prepare it?”