“A year,” she said, suddenly a little defensive. “Why?”

“No reason. Just making conversation.”

Her temper flickered up. “As long as you don’t try and tell me I should find something else to do, okay? If you’re gonna start up with that then I’d rather you just kept quiet and drove.”

“What you do is up to you. I’m not in any place to tell you anything.”

“Fucking A.”

“I’m just thinking practically.”

“Like?”

“Like how are you getting back?”

“I’ll call another cab.”

“Back to the city?”

“Sure.”

“That’s if you can find someone who’ll come out this late at night. The fog as bad as this, and supposed to get worse? I know I wouldn’t.”

“Lucky I’m not calling you then.”

He spoke carefully. He didn’t want to come over like some concerned father figure. He guessed that would put her on the defensive right away. “You got no-one to look out for you while you’re here?”

She hesitated, looking out into the gloom. “My guy usually waits and then drives me back again. Keeps an eye on things, too, makes sure I’m alright.”

“I can’t do that for you.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“I’ve got a day job. I need to get back to sleep.”

“I told you — I wasn’t asking. Jesus, man! This isn’t the first time I’ve done this. I’ll be alright. The men are okay. Respectable types. Bankers and shit. A frat party, maybe I’m a little concerned to be out on my own. But here? With guys like that? Nothing to worry about. I’ll be fine.”

The GPS said the turn was up ahead. Milton dabbed the brakes and slowed to twenty, searching for the turnoff in the mist. He found it; it was unlit, narrow and lonely, and the sign on the turnoff read PINE ESTATE. He indicated even though there was no-one on the road ahead or behind him and then slowed a little more.

He looked at the clock in the dash: the glowing digits said that it was half-ten.

The road ran parallel to West Shore Road for half a mile or so and then Milton saw lights glowing through the trees. It turned sharply to the left and then was interrupted by a eight-foot brick wall and, in the midst of that, a majestic wrought iron gate that looked like it belonged on a southern plantation. A white gatehouse was immediately ahead. Beyond the gate, on the right hand side of the road, a blue wooden sign had been driven into the verge. The sign said PINE ESTATE ASSOCIATION in golden letters that sloped right to left. There was a model lighthouse atop the gate. Milton considered it: a private community, prime real estate, close enough to the city and Silicon Valley not too far away. It all smelt of money.

Lots and lots of money.

“Through there,” she said.

“How many houses in here?”

“Don’t know for sure. I’ve only ever been to this one. Twenty? Thirty?”

“How do we get in?”

“They texted me the code.” The glow of her cell phone lit up her face as she searched for the information she needed. “2-0-1-1.”

He nudged the car forwards and lowered his window. The low rumble of the tyres on the rough road surface blended with the muffled chirping of the cicadas outside. He reached out to the keypad and punched in the code. The gate opened and they passed along a long driveway enclosed on both sides by mature oaks. Large and perfectly tended gardens reached down to the road. There were tree allées, expansive lawns, follies, knot gardens, boxwood parterres.

They reached the first house. It was a large modern building set out mostly on one level with a two storey addition at one end. It spread out across a wide parcel of land. There were two separate wings, each with floor to ceiling windows that cast oblongs of golden light that blended away into the grey shroud that had fallen all around. A series of antique lamps cast abbreviated, fuzzy triangles of illumination out across the immaculate front lawn. There was a motor court verged by espalier fruit trees. Milton reversed parked in a space; there was a Ferrari on one side and the new Tesla convertible on the other. Two hundred thousand dollars of peerless design and engineering. His Explorer was old and battered and inadequate in comparison.

Milton switched off the engine. “You weren’t kidding,” he said.

“About what?”

“There’s money here.”

“Told you.” She unclipped her safety belt, put her hand on the handle but then paused for a moment, as if unwilling to open the door.

“Are you alright?”

“Sure. It’s just—”

“You’re nervous? I could take you back if you want.”

She shook her head. “I’m not nervous.”

“Then what?”

“I’m here to meet someone except I haven’t seen him for a while and he doesn’t know I’m coming. The last time I saw him it — well, let’s say it didn’t go so well, didn’t end well for either of us. There’s probably a very good chance he tells me to get the fuck out as soon as he sees me.”

“I’m going back into the city. It’s not a problem.”

“No. I don’t have any choice. I want to see him.”

“It’d be no trouble. No charge.”

“I’m fine. Really. It’s completely cool. I’m just being stupid.”

She opened the door and got out, reaching back inside for her coat and bag.

She shut the door.

She paused.

She turned back to him. “Thanks for driving me,” she said into the open window. She smiled shyly and suddenly looked very young indeed. The chic dress and stratospheric heels looked out of place, like a schoolgirl playing dress-up. She turned towards the house. The door opened and Milton noticed a male face watching them through the gloom.

Milton wondered, again, how old she was. Nineteen? Twenty?

Too young for this.

Her footsteps crunched through the gravel.

Dammit, Milton thought.

“Madison,” he called through the window. “Hang on.”

She paused and turned back to him. “What?”

“I’ll wait.”

She took a step closer to the car. “You don’t have to do that.”

“No, I do. You shouldn’t be out here on your own.”

She liked to keep her face impassive, he could see that, but she couldn’t stop the sudden flicker of relief that broke over it. “Are you sure you’re okay with that? I could be a couple hours — maybe longer if it goes well.”

“I’ve got some music and a book. If you need me, I’ll be right here.”

“I’ll pay extra.”

“We’ll sort that out later. You can leave your bag if you want.”

She came back to the car and took a smaller clutch bag from the rucksack. She put the condoms inside and took a final swig from the bottle of vodka. “Thanks. It’s kind of you.”

“Just — well, you know, just be careful, alright?”

“I’m always careful.”

3

Milton got out of the car and stretched his legs. It was quiet with just the occasional calls of seals and pelicans, the low whoosh of a jet high above and, rolling softly over everything, the quiet susurration of the sea. A foghorn boomed out from across the water and, seconds later, its twin returned the call. Lights hidden in the vegetation cast an electric blue glow over the timber-frame of the building, the lights behind the huge expanses of glass blazing out into the darkness. Milton knew that the house was high enough on the cliffs to offer a spectacular view across the Bay to Alcatraz, the Bridge and the city but all he could see tonight was the shifting grey curtain. There was a certain beauty in the feeling of solitude. Milton enjoyed it for ten minutes and then, the temperature chilled and dropping further, he returned to the Explorer, switched on the heater, took out his phone and plugged it into the dash. He scrolled through his music until he found the folder that he was looking for. He had been listening to a lot of old guitar music and he picked Dog Man Star, the album by Suede that he had been listening to before he picked Madison up. There had been a lot of Brit-pop on the barrack’s stereo while he had slogged through Selection for the SAS and it brought back memories of happier times. Times when his memories didn’t burden him like they did now. He liked the swirling layers of shoegazing and dance-pop fusions from the Madchester era and the sharp, clean three-minute singles that had evolved out of it. Suede and Sleeper and Blur. He turned the volume down a little and closed his eyes as the wistful introduction of ‘Stay Together’ started. His memories triggered: the Brecon Beacons, the Fan dance, hours and hours of hauling a sixty pound pack up and down the mountains, the lads he had gone through the process with, most of whom had been binned, the pints of stout that followed each exercise in inviting pubs with roaring log fires and horse brasses on the walls.