‘Isla? What happened?’ Scott leans over the steel railing, his shirt open at the chest, holding a glass of orange juice.

‘I’m all right,’ she says.

‘Hold on. I’m coming down.’

She steps inside when he opens the door. The entrance area is twice the footprint of her London apartment, with white marble flooring and an open staircase that curves towards the upper floors. The entire rear wall is floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the pool.

‘I’m all right,’ she says again. ‘Everything’s ok. Really.’

He looks at her doubtfully. His face shines from his morning shave.

‘Sorry it’s so early,’ she says.

‘Come in. Join us for breakfast. Ruby’s in Singapore but Mum’s home.’

‘I’d rather not.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘I need to go back to Ropes Crossing.’

He looks up at the ceiling. ‘What for?’

‘I need to speak to Steve Mallory again.’

‘I thought that was over with. I thought we could all move on.’

‘It’s not over with.’

He shuts his eyes, breathes very deeply. ‘Mum called that cop yesterday. She spoke to him and he said the case was closed. They think she’s alive.’ He rubs his thumb and forefinger, reaching for her name. ‘Mandy. She’s alive.’

‘I heard that too,’ she says. ‘It’s bullshit.’

‘For God’s sake, Isla.’ He crosses to the staircase, shirtsleeves flapping. ‘Look, I can’t take you out there, if that’s what you’re hoping.’

‘I can’t stop thinking about it.’ She follows him to the foot of the stairs. ‘I think they closed the case to protect Steve.’

He looks at her like she’s unhinged. ‘Why don’t you leave it? Dad’s off the hook. Things are better left as they are.’

‘I don’t think so.’ She stands beside him. He smells of soap, deodorant, shampoo. ‘I’m going back to London next week and Dad’s drinking himself into a hole. Mum’s left him. A woman I cared about as a kid is dead.’

‘None of that is your fault.’ His face softens. ‘You look like shit. Let me get you some breakfast, would you?’

‘I don’t want breakfast.’

‘Have you been drinking?’

‘No.’ She shakes her head and the ringing in her left ear stops. ‘I’m sober. I swear to God.’

He puts one socked foot on the stair above. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I need the car. I have a business to run. People who rely on me.’

Behind him, Isla sees her mother through the ceiling-height windows, walking towards the pool in cream silk pyjamas and a matching dressing gown. She’s holding a mug of coffee, treading slowly, her feet bare.

‘Why don’t you hire a car?’ He stops to button his shirt. ‘I can drop you at the rental place in town.’

Isla watches her mother walk around the pool, pausing to look up at the house. She had hoped Scott wouldn’t make this suggestion.

‘I can’t hire a car,’ she says.

‘Why not?’

‘I lost my licence a while back.’ She says it in the level voice she has rehearsed all morning.