“Sharrow, you can’t do this!”

“You mean, You can’t do this to me,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She took a camera the size of a little finger from a dressing-table drawer and clipped it into an interior pocket of the bag she’d packed.

“Sharrow!”

She frowned, turning away from the bag lying open on the big round bed in the big round bedroom which faced out to sea. “Hmm?” she said.

Jyr looked distraught; he had been crying. “How can you just leave?” He threw his arms wide. “I love you!”

She stared at him. The pale areas of his face looked reddened; the fashion on the island that summer had been for black-white skin like camouflage, and Jyr-convinced he suited the style seemed determined to remain two-tone for the whole year.

She pushed past him, disappearing into her dressing-room to reappear with a pair of long gloves which she added to the pile of clothes in the overcrowded bag.

“Sharrow!” Jyr shouted, behind her.

“What?” she said, frowning, one hand at her mouth tapping her teeth as she looked down at the bag, deep in thought. She had booked a ticket on a westbound flight leaving early the next morning, called her lawyer and her business partners to arrange a meeting, and contacted her bank to rearrange her finances. Still, she was sure she’d forgotten something.

“Don’t go!” Jyr said. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I love you!”

“Uh-huh,” she said, kneeling on the bed to pull the bag closed.

“Sharrow,” Jyr said quietly behind her, a catch in his voice. “Please…” He put his hands on her hips. She knocked his hands away, grunting as she struggled with the catches on the bag.

She forced the bag closed and stood up. Then she was whirled round as Jyr grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Stop doing this to me!” he shouted. “Stop ignoring me!”