The baby did not strike at Sebastian. Montague Hill was taken for the millionaire once or twice, and I suppose it flattered his vanity. “Thank Heaven, they are bringing the hors d’oeuvres. He helped himself to a beer, then a vodka and tonic, then two rum and Cokes. It comes over the mountains, Anna, pink darkening into orange red, everywhere a wonderful cloud sea, scintillating with colour. During the wet monsoon the west beach was always littered. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart.
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