It seemed to Marina that the landscape glowed. She sat on the old sofa on the veranda at the back of the villa, the sounds of the other guests inside the home fading away. The russet features of the plains and distant hills deepened in colour as the sun touched them on this long twilight.

She shivered involuntarily, at the same time wondering why she would do so, when, after all, it was the middle of summer. And she was back home, after so long away. A place she had been away from for what seemed like a lifetime. Or a different life.

Marina tensed as the music drifted through the walls of the villa, anticipating the words to a song that, as if on cue, took her back to a long ago summer. An old New Zealand hit, she remembered. And surely only a coincidence, to hear it now, in this place that seemed crowded with memories, choices she had made with the sureness of youth. Such talent, people had said. A chance to get away from Eade. Which she had been so sure she wanted to do. After all, she had had all the time in the world.

“And the famous artist returns.”

Too late, Marina sensed movement at the end of the veranda. “Yes,” she said simply, unwilling to betray her agitation, be baited by the cutting tone. Knowing her escape out here had been futile; a temporary measure to alleviate her spiking emotions. “I’m just relaxing, listening to the stereo,” Marina added, belatedly realising what she had said. She stared rigidly out at the plains, holding her breath, sensing him moving closer. Unable to resist a quick sideways glance she drank in the dark hair, still slightly too long to be fashionable, the planes of his face, his contemptuous hazel eyes.

He laughed shortly as he saw her look towards him, the sound bitter, harsh, in the soft evening light. “Put the boot in, why don’t you, Marina.” He stood by the veranda railing, anger radiating from him. “You sure haven’t changed.”

Marina stood up, facing him, trying to camouflage her shock at his comments, at seeing him again. “Dan.” Marina saw his face change as she automatically shortened his name. “Daniel.” She involuntarily amended what she had said. His eyes met hers. “One song on the radio hardly matters now.”

He shook his head slightly, his eyes seeming darker in the low light. “No, it doesn’t, does it, Marina? Not any more.” Her icy beauty seemed to taunt him as he spoke, her pale eyes and ivory complexion stark against the shadows of the night, her perfectly straight hair giving no hint of its usual subtle red hue.

Before she could respond he moved away, reached for the lead-paned door, wrenching it open, and disappeared inside the home. Marina heard the click of the door as it shut behind him, sank back onto the sofa. The fabric seemed to burn her as memories flooded back.