It was a warm, glittering winter day on the big island of Hawaii.
My husband and I were enjoying a week s vacation from his
business, and we were staying at what surely must be one of the
world s most beautiful hotels, its shutters and halls were open
to the sea, and it sat on a winding curve of beach like a
washed-up, sun-bleached shell, a part of the environment rather
than a refuge from it.
Lunch was over, a tempting display of mouth-watering edi-
bles which we always skipped because it was not included in the
American plan of two meals a day and, more to the point, we
were always trying to lose weight and needed to leave some
caloric credit for dinner. Regardless of whether the motive was
frugality or the shedding of a few pounds of real flesh, forgetting
to eat at midday in the tropics wasn t too much of a hardship.
So it was after our nonlunch that we made our way along the
sea path to the tennis courts. We had both signed up for the
roand-robin tournament arranged so that tennis-playing guests
could meet one another, and I was soon hard at work banging
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