He worked carefully down the steps and grabbed his bags from the cart they rolled next to the small plane. Managing the bags to one hand, he plucked his sunglasses from his shirt pocket and put them on before following the trail of holidayers and other tourists working into the small airport. They all chattered loudly as they exchanged details or met their friends. One particularly obnoxious group seemed already too drunk to even be walking as they screamed their fraternity mantra to one another out the doors.

"John!" He smiled as a man waved him down, the lopsided sign in his hand immediately tossed to the side so the men could embrace. "Glad you made it."

"It's a small island Robert but it's not hard to find."

"It's hard enough that when I first moved Cora and I here she had a map enlarged and printed so she wouldn't get lost explaining it to other people." Robert reached for one of John's bags. "You pack light."

"My supplies are arriving in tomorrow."

"I hope the heat doesn't destroy your oils."

"I planned on acrylics for this project. Easier to work with." John trailed Robert out of the airport and put his bags in the back of the small car before rubbing at his leg.

Robert stopped, "You need something for that?"

"Not anymore, it just twinges when I've been cooped up for too long."

"Well you've only got a short ride in this and then it's up and down the beach until you're too sick of sand in your shoes." Robert took the driver's side and shook his head, "Who would've thought someone would pay you this kind of money to paint some butterfly?"

"Not me and certainly not my ex-wife when she threw her fist through one of my paintings when I told her I was retiring from the firm."

"I think the moment she boiled over was when you said you weren't going into Parliament."

"Well her boyfriend now is MP for Buckinghamshire so I'm sure she's happy with that." John shrugged, "It's all where it needs to be for now."

"Exactly." Robert slapped his hand against the steering wheel. "You're single, you're relatively wealthy, and you're being paid to fulfill your passion. How about that?"

"I'm just glad you didn't immediately try to say there's a topless beach or something to take my mind off it all."

"If you're wondering-"

"I'm not," John raised a hand, "Stop whatever you're about to say and don't ever mention it again."

"You are single."

"And I'm enjoying not having to worry about VDs or condoms or relationships." John opened his hands, "I'm here for business, not pleasure Robert."

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

"Good thing my name's John then, isn't it?"

"Prat."

"Snob." John settled into the seat, "How's Cora liking it here?"

"We're English roses but she loves it."

"I thought she was from New York."

"Cincinnati but I guess the key is American." Robert shuddered, "We hosted her mother and some party she threw for her sixtieth and all those accents just made my teeth grind together."

"I can't imagine a bunch of plus fifties being too horrible."

"Just wait until you find out they all brought little blue pills with them."

"Robert!" John groaned, "Do you want me to vomit all over the inside of your car? Because I will."

"Look, point is," Robert steered through the light traffic toward the beach. "You need to realize that you're going to be up there yourself soon."

"In twenty years."

"Nineteen."

"Semantics."

"And you're dodging the question." Robert pulled to a stop at a sign, turning partway toward John. "I thought, when we were in school, that you wanted kids."

"I do."

"Well?"

"Vera didn't and you shouldn't bring kids into that kind of environment."

"I agree, she was nasty."

John frowned, "Not just that. You shouldn't make kids the subject of resentment and that's all they would've been."

"What about now?"

"No adoption agency in the world's going to let a single man above forty adopt kids. It looks too suspicious and I don't know about you but I don't want anyone looking into me like I'm a pedo or something."

"Hence my invitation for you to check out a topless beach."

"I'm not going to a topless beach to find a baby mama."

"Who said you needed a baby mama?" Robert snorted, "You just need to get laid at this point."

"Thanks."

"Be honest, how long's it been?"

John shifted in his seat, "A few years."

"Right, see, that's what I mean. No wonder you're strung tighter than a violin." Robert pulled the car into a resort, slapping John on the arm. "You need a good few weeks here, a nice holiday, and maybe even a nice shag."

"Now I know why I never took you up on your offer before." John got out of the car, smiling and opening his arms as a dark haired woman approached him. "Hello Cora."

"Robert told me you were coming but I honestly didn't believe we could get John Bates to stay at The Grantham when he was chained to his easel in London." She released him, "But I'm so glad you did. We've got so much for you to try I don't even know where to begin."

"Probably with showing him his room." Another dark haired woman exited the building, flipping through something on the screen of her iPad. "Welcome to the Grantham Mr. Bates."

"Mary." He shook her hand, "I see your degree in hospitality's going to a good cause."

She gave him a sarcastic smile, "It was in business management."

"Still," Robert heaved the boot open, "I guess it was worth the money we spent on it."

"You make it sound like you gave a fortune to my education." Mary tapped something else before waving for a bellboy.

"We could've paid a bit less." Robert muttered to John as the bellboy took John's bags. "Has John's package come?"

"There's a box in his room, delivered this morning." Mary shrugged, "I guess the British postal service is good for something."

"Thank you." John shook Robert's hand, "I'm guessing you've already planned a dinner I can't escape."

"Of course." He winked, "It's a luau."

"I thought that was Hawaiian."

"It is," Cora assured him, "But it's roasted pig over a spit and it's quite the treat."

"Alright." John turned to Mary, "Are you the guide then?"

"You can't be serious." She pointed to the bellboy, "Follow him."

John snorted and followed the bellboy to his room. He tipped the blonde man, who smiled at him, and then walked the spacious room. Two white couches faced a television and a set of slatted doors separated the bedroom with its matching en suite.

Tossing the doors to the patio open he gave an exclamation of surprise at the lap pool and the Jacuzzi accessible by his bedroom and the living room. John leaned on the balcony, looking out at the green and the beach before whistling and turning back inside. His bags went on the bed before he broke open the crate near the breakfast nook and table.

He smiled at the contents, "Hello beautiful."

The easel and paints went under the overhang on the porch and John positioned a chair just where he wanted it. "Time to get to work."

She waved behind her, pushing the handlebars of her bike forward before swinging her leg over to ride along the road. Dodging runners and the slower tourists, she weaved up the beach at an easy pace. Her hair, the strands escaping her ponytail, fluttered about her face.

As she reached to push some away she saw a man standing in her path. Her hands grabbed the brakes on her handlebars as hard as she could and her wheels skidded over the sandy pavement. In that moment her life flashed before her eyes but she stopped in time to catch herself on her feet in front of the man.

He let out a gasp and a half laugh. "I never thought I'd be killed by a bicycle."

"Bit of a shit way to die isn't it?" She laughed with him, looking at the back of the bike to make sure the contents of the crate had not shifted too much. "Sorry about that. I got distracted and then almost mowed you down."

"It's understandable. I'm standing in the middle of your way." He shrugged, "Sorry about that."

"It's my fault, really." She cringed and then offered her hand, "Accept my apologies?"

"I'd be a right asshole if I didn't." He took her hand, "Would it be too improper to ask your name to go along with the apology?"

"I'm Anna Smith. Part time bike messenger around here." She took her hand back, flexing it to spread the sudden heat there. "And yourself?"

"John Bates, visiting business man I guess."

"You've got that look about you."

"Do I?"

Anna nodded, "I've lived on this island a long time and you can tell when someone's here for business, pleasure, or when they try to make pleasure their business or vice versa."

"Can't imagine that usually ends well."

"Most holidays are a toss up." She nodded at him, "But you don't look like a banker trying to secret funds or an investigator hoping to dig up someone's illicit tryst so what business brings you to the island?"

"Commission actually."

"You're not a prostitute are you?"

He struck a pose, "Why, don't I look the part?"

"You do look like the kind of guy a woman hires as a beard for a family wedding or a funeral." Anna snickered at his smile, "But I doubt you'd come all the way to Downton Weir to make sure some woman didn't feel too lonely on holiday. There are enough local boys and bellhops for that."

"Really?"

"It's a good trade. The unofficial kind where you get benefits and the risks are low."

"You seem awfully informed."

"My friends run one of the better resorts here and they've had their issues with it." Anna shrugged, walking her bike forward, pleased when he kept pace. "So what kind of commission?"

"I'm a painter."

"Like Bob Ross?"

"Not quite as well known but I'm good enough." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I usually illustrate magazines or children's books but there's a decent trade for the work I do with landscapes and murals."

"Someone wants you to paint them this sunset for their foggy, gray skies of somewhere else then?"

"Yes and no." He scratched at his head, "They actually want me to paint a rare butterfly that only lives here."

"Really?"

"Yeah," He nodded, "It's got a particular ultraviolet pattern that only appears during thunderstorms."

"That sounds made up."

"That's part of the reason I'm here to paint it, because so many people think it's not real."

"But you think it is?"

"I've seen the original paintings of it by James Gillespie."

"Who?"

"James Gillespie," John stopped, "You've not heard of him, have you?"

"Can't say I studied art in school."

"What did you study?"

"Weather." Anna pointed behind her, "When I'm not delivering things like a mad woman on this I'm up there tracking weather patterns."

"Meteorology." He made a surprised face, "I would've thought someone like you'd be in front of the camera, not buried at a weather station."

"I get to live on an island instead of a cramped flat in England." She teased, "I guess the toss up is what you make it."

"I guess it is."

"So, if you're here for a thunderstorm, then I should probably tell you that it's typhoon season around here."

"Best time to get illustrative proof that the butterfly exists." John stopped, "And aren't they called hurricanes?"

"In this region, yes." Anna ticked off on her fingers, "Hurricanes in places like the Caribbean, typhoons here and as far north as Japan, monsoons in Thailand, and cyclones off the coast of India."

"I guess your education did you good."

"And it's doing good for others too." Anna smiled, "I get the feeling you didn't study art at Uni."

"How'd you know?"

"Your comment just now, like you weren't living up to an investment."

"I studied law."

"Ever practice it?"

"Enough so that I don't have to make a killing selling murals."

Anna laughed, "The nice way of saying you're rolling in it and now you're investing in your passion hobby."

"I was trying to be polite."

"I appreciate that." Anna pulled at her mobile as it vibrated in her pocket. "Bugger."

"What?"

"I've got a dinner with friends I almost forgot about." Anna swung her leg over her bike and offered her hand, "I hope you enjoy the rest of your working holiday Mr. Bates."

"Thank you, Ms. Smith." He shook her hand firmly, "Would I be too impertinent to ask for your number?"

"I'd be sad if you didn't." She tapped her number into his phone. "Text me and I'll have yours too."

"Will do." He stepped back, "Wouldn't want to get in your way again."

"I'm glad you got in my way the first time."

"Me too."

"I'll talk to you soon Mr. Bates." She pedaled off, calling over her shoulder. "And I wish you luck with your butterfly."