trees, oleander, hibiscus, white ginger. The view was spectacular. From one point or another on the terrace you could see most of the harbor, Hassel Island and its mountaintop fort, a section of Water Island, the Caribbean in the distance.
When we finished the tour, Annalise said expectantly, "Well? What do you think?"
"As advertised. You couldn't have made a better choice."
"I just love it. I knew you would, too." She kissed me. "So what do you want to do now, as if I didn't know?"
"A shower first," I said. "And something cold to drink."
"You go ahead. I'll make us a couple of rum punches."
I was in the shower, soaping off, when she brought the drinks. brought them naked into the tiled stall. We drank standing close together under the cool stream of water, not sipping but gulping, and then we took turns with the bar of soap. That kind of foreplay doesn't last long or allow for a time-out to towel dry and hop into bed. Our first round of lovemaking in our new home was started and finished standing up in the shower.
Over the next ten days we christened all the other rooms. The terrace and the side veranda and the garden, too, each of those after dark in deference to public decency.
***
I met Royce and Maureen Verriker the next day, and the Kyles and some of the other members of the white establishment at a Christmas party the Verrikers hosted that weekend. Only about 10 percent of the island population was white—U.S. expats, and descendants of U.S., Danish, and French settlers—so it was a fairly small and close-knit community.
Richard Laidlaw was more comfortable in a party atmosphere, among strangers, than Jordan Wise had ever been; better able to mix and make small talk. But that doesn't mean that I liked it. Annalise was genuinely at ease, smiling, laughing, charming everyone, enjoying the attention, but a part of me stood off and observed what she and the others did and said and then took cues from them so I could make all the appropriate responses.
Royce Verriker was a few years older than me, tall, lean, with a mop of sun-bleached hair and intense gray eyes. Very suave, very glib: if I hadn't known he was a lawyer, I would have guessed it on the first try. When he and I talked, he asked a lot of questions, not prying, just displaying interest. I gave him all the rehearsed answers—successful Chicago tool-and-die manufacturer, made a bundle in the stock market, decided to sell my business and retire young, moved down here to live the good life in the sun. He smiled and said he envied me. He also said, "I imagine Annalise has told you that my specialty is domestic law. But if you ever need any other kind of legal help or advice, my door is always open." I thanked him and said I'd keep that in mind. Typical lawyer. Cut him open and he would bleed green for money and brown for bullshit.
His wife, Maureen, was a slender, thirtyish redhead, the dark-complected rather than the pale-skinned variety. One of those pretty cameo faces, but with oddly sad eyes. A little reserved until you got to know her, pleasant and gracious. She and Annalise had hit it off from the first and were already friends. She wore a skintight blue dress that night—and low-cut blouses and tight pullovers and skimpy bikinis at other times—that called attention to overlarge breasts. The way she dressed was Verriker's idea, not hers; he was the one, she'd told Annalise, who wanted to show off her boobs.
Gavin and Robin Kyle were both architects pushing forty, owners of their own firm. A study in contrasts, those two. He was short, on the tubby side, with sparse hair the color of ginger ale, and a gossipmonger who liked to hear himself talk; she was six inches taller, skinny, had thick dark hair, and seldom spoke more than two sentences in a row. I liked them both. Despite Gavin's constant chatter, most of what he had to say was interesting and amusing.
The guest I related to best,
When we finished the tour, Annalise said expectantly, "Well? What do you think?"
"As advertised. You couldn't have made a better choice."
"I just love it. I knew you would, too." She kissed me. "So what do you want to do now, as if I didn't know?"
"A shower first," I said. "And something cold to drink."
"You go ahead. I'll make us a couple of rum punches."
I was in the shower, soaping off, when she brought the drinks. brought them naked into the tiled stall. We drank standing close together under the cool stream of water, not sipping but gulping, and then we took turns with the bar of soap. That kind of foreplay doesn't last long or allow for a time-out to towel dry and hop into bed. Our first round of lovemaking in our new home was started and finished standing up in the shower.
Over the next ten days we christened all the other rooms. The terrace and the side veranda and the garden, too, each of those after dark in deference to public decency.
***
I met Royce and Maureen Verriker the next day, and the Kyles and some of the other members of the white establishment at a Christmas party the Verrikers hosted that weekend. Only about 10 percent of the island population was white—U.S. expats, and descendants of U.S., Danish, and French settlers—so it was a fairly small and close-knit community.
Richard Laidlaw was more comfortable in a party atmosphere, among strangers, than Jordan Wise had ever been; better able to mix and make small talk. But that doesn't mean that I liked it. Annalise was genuinely at ease, smiling, laughing, charming everyone, enjoying the attention, but a part of me stood off and observed what she and the others did and said and then took cues from them so I could make all the appropriate responses.
Royce Verriker was a few years older than me, tall, lean, with a mop of sun-bleached hair and intense gray eyes. Very suave, very glib: if I hadn't known he was a lawyer, I would have guessed it on the first try. When he and I talked, he asked a lot of questions, not prying, just displaying interest. I gave him all the rehearsed answers—successful Chicago tool-and-die manufacturer, made a bundle in the stock market, decided to sell my business and retire young, moved down here to live the good life in the sun. He smiled and said he envied me. He also said, "I imagine Annalise has told you that my specialty is domestic law. But if you ever need any other kind of legal help or advice, my door is always open." I thanked him and said I'd keep that in mind. Typical lawyer. Cut him open and he would bleed green for money and brown for bullshit.
His wife, Maureen, was a slender, thirtyish redhead, the dark-complected rather than the pale-skinned variety. One of those pretty cameo faces, but with oddly sad eyes. A little reserved until you got to know her, pleasant and gracious. She and Annalise had hit it off from the first and were already friends. She wore a skintight blue dress that night—and low-cut blouses and tight pullovers and skimpy bikinis at other times—that called attention to overlarge breasts. The way she dressed was Verriker's idea, not hers; he was the one, she'd told Annalise, who wanted to show off her boobs.
Gavin and Robin Kyle were both architects pushing forty, owners of their own firm. A study in contrasts, those two. He was short, on the tubby side, with sparse hair the color of ginger ale, and a gossipmonger who liked to hear himself talk; she was six inches taller, skinny, had thick dark hair, and seldom spoke more than two sentences in a row. I liked them both. Despite Gavin's constant chatter, most of what he had to say was interesting and amusing.
The guest I related to best,
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