and putter upstairs and listened at the bathroom door. Wind, rain, but no monkey noises. In the bedroom, she pulled on one of Jack’s shirts and rolled the sleeves. With the storm spending the remains of its fury and the monkeys vacated, she felt safe enough. She made up the bed with stained sheets worn soft and slid in, laying the putter against her hip.
She smelled cigar. When she opened her eyes, the darkness was velvety, absolute. Her tongue was furry with rum. She listened. The storm had moved on, but she sensed that its enveloping, terrifying presence had been replaced by another presence, equally formless.
A cigar tip flared, and in its faint light she thought she saw a man’s face, disembodied, floating above the foot of the bed. She sat up, fumbled for the lantern, and struck a match, but she couldn’t light the mantle and succeeded only in singeing her fingertips. She shook the match out and tossed it away from the bed. In its brief flare, the face was all beard and dark eyes.
“I just had to see if it was you,” the man said, “who bought the house.” His voice was raspy, barely above a whisper.
She took in a sharp breath. She struck another match and managed to light the lantern. He seemed to be jelling but cast no shadow. He was wearing a rumpled linen shirt. The expression in his eyes was apprehensive, needy.
She grabbed the putter.
“It all depends on you now,” he said.
“How’d you get in?”
“You let me in.”
Her mind raced through the house, thinking of ways in, ways out, something left unlocked. She checked the bedside table. No phone. She remembered phones in the study and next to the big leather chair. Hurricane. Lines down.
He swept the cigar to his waist and bowed. “I apologize for my appalling lack of manners,” he said. “I thought it okay to help myself to one of these, but I should’ve asked the lady’s permission to smoke.” He examined the glowing ash. “I needed this,” he said, “to steady my nerves.” He took an ashtray off the dresser and rolled the cigar in it, sculpting the ash into a neat mound. His eyes glittered as if he was drunk or drugged. “I’ve got more at stake here than you do.”
“Get. Out.”
“Don’t banish me, sweet,” he said. He blew three smoke rings and watched them wobble and dissipate. He looked to be in his forties and was tanned and weathered, with dark curls falling over his forehead and pleading eyes. “I came to welcome you, but I’ve blown that completely. My charm isn’t what it once was, obviously.”
A gust of wind shook the palms. The surf raged.
“I should have let you settle in first,” he said. He pulled on the cigar and exhaled toward the ceiling. “As Wordsworth says, I was given ‘so much of earth, so much of heaven, and such impetuous blood.’”
She tightened her grip on the putter.
“I just can’t get the hang of this.” He stepped back until he was standing in the doorframe. Khaki shorts. Barefoot. “All the rules are changed.”
He held the ashtray in his laced fingers like a precious vessel and looked at the ceiling. The smoke curled up his torso and wreathed his head. When he looked back at her, his eyes had lost their glitter. They bored into her in a way that was familiar, seductive. “I should be good at befriending a woman as impetuous as I. A woman who glows in the sunset and dances in the rain. I was foolish to think we could take up where we left off.”
The face and voice were vaguely familiar, his gaze like a remembered caress. “When have we met?” she asked.
“I was too tired tonight to get back to that younger me,” he said. “This was the best I could do. At least I’m in my so-called prime.” He shifted the ashtray to his left hand and pulled a small bouquet of blue flowers from the waistband of his shorts. He took a step closer.
“Stay where you are,” she said, but she lowered the putter.
“Periwinkle,” he said. “Violette de Sorcier. Protection against spirits, if you want it.” He kissed the nosegay and tossed it onto the foot of the bed. “Some of them can be real pests, or so I hear.” He bowed again. “See you,” he said, his gaze on the flowers. “I hope.”
He looked at her imploringly, saluted, and stepped into the hall, leaving behind a wisp of