The Forever Girl by Alexander McCall Smith

other men’s conversation. People said there had been a tragedy in his life somewhere, but nobody had discovered what it was. There was one wild theory – risible, Amanda thought – that he had killed somebody in New Zealand, where he originally came from, and had come to the Caymans to escape prosecution.
    He was not in when Amanda arrived. She had thought that she would probably arrive too early – it would have taken time for them to dock the other boat – but she wanted to be sure that she did not miss him. She had no idea what plans he might have, but she thought there was a danger that he had been invited to the Hills’ – she knew he was friendly with them – and she would have to see him before that. At the Hills’ it would be too late, as he might say something to David.
    She parked her car on his driveway under the shade of a large Flamboyant tree and began her wait. The minutes dragged past; after half an hour, she got out of the car and stretched her legs; after an hour she began to wonder whether she should write him a note and slip it under his front door. It could be brief – a request that he say nothing about seeing her in the boat and offering to give him her reasons later on, when they could meet to discuss it.
    She had a notebook with her in the glove compartment of the car, and she took this out and began to compose the note. She was writing this when she heard the car and, looking up, saw John’s dark blue Mercedes coming up the drive. He slowed down as he drew level with her and peered into the car. Recognisingher, he gave a wave and continued to the garage at the side of the house.
    Amanda left her car and walked up the drive to meet him.
    “Twice in one day,” joked John. “Is everything all right?”
    “I wanted to thank you,” she said. “But you dashed off.”
    He smiled, and gestured to the front door. “Come in. I’ll make some coffee, or something cooler?”
    She followed him into the house.
    “I must say,” he began, “that I’ve often thought about what would happen if one lost power out there. I don’t have a boat myself, but I’d always have an auxiliary engine if I did. Something to get one back through the reef.”
    She agreed. “It seems reasonable.”
    He led her into a sitting room at the front of the house. From the windows at the end of the room, there was a view of a short stretch of grass and then, framed by trees, the sea. On the walls there were paintings on Caribbean themes: a Jamaican street scene, a small island rising sharply out of the sea, a couple of colourful abstracts.
    He invited her to sit down while he went to prepare coffee. “Where’s David?” he asked. His tone was level. “Working, I suppose.”
    “Yes.”
    “Not my fault,” he said. “I keep telling him to work less. He puts the rest of us to shame.”
    “Yes, I think so too. But …”
    He looked at her expectantly.
    “This isn’t easy for me,” she said.
    He stared at her, and then sat down. He would make the coffee later.
    “It’s about today? About that business out at the reef?”
    She nodded. “I know what you’re probably thinking.”
    He held her gaze. “I try to keep out of other people’s private affairs,” he said. “It crossed my mind that it was a bit … how should I put it? Surprising that you were out there with … what’s that doctor’s name again?”
    “George Collins.”
    “Yes. George Collins.” He paused. “I hardly know him. I’ve met him once or twice at the usual functions, but they seem to keep to themselves for the most part, don’t they?”
    “They do.”
    He sighed. “I didn’t think it was any of my business what was happening on that boat.”
    “But there wasn’t anything happening,” she blurted out. “We just went out in the boat together.”
    He stared at her for a moment, as if he was deciding whether to say something. Then he shrugged. “Well, that’s fine then. You’ve made the point that it was just a casual