Shelia finished her business notes about the other investors then finally got back to her room and called Winston, telling him what had occurred. He expressed displeasure in her tactics until she persuaded him to look at the bigger picture. One problem was now manageable and if he issued dividend cheques immediately they would be waiting for the investors when they got home; it could be enough of a stall for time to wind up their own business.

Winston was concerned that they could be exposed if she continued fraternizing with Gary but she assured him that it would be in Gary's best interest to see that didn't happen. Whatever she decided to pass along would be of no consequence and would be accepted because she was also placing him in an awkward situation with his partner Weiss.

He agreed to go along but he wanted her to come over and study the books once more, together . . . just to get a better picture. She put him off by using the party preparation as an excuse; she needed to organize her material for keeping the new investors happy in a more congenial setting. Shelia was amazed at how her tale had aroused Graves in spite of his protest. Another tumble was out of the question . . . she was only human.

He expressed angry disappointment but she promised to make it up and they hung up, both satisfied to some extent. With her notebook open, Shelia began thinking about the sequence of the things she had to do and when she couldn't find her pen she made a rude noise and went hunting for something to write with. Some days were better than others.

**********

Miller's day had dragged on with a morose sulking around the lighthouse, walking scrub-covered paths leading to more densely covered hills and gullies and back to the starting point with little gain. He lined up with sunburned kids and mothers to buy a sandwich for lunch at the Dive Shop food stand and ate it while he walked, bored and dejected.

He tried reading on the balcony but the stunning sight dragged his eyes away and he found reading impossible and then, after a while, even the scenery palled. He went inside and browsed through the material from the resort package. He could scuba dive-for a fee. Or he could golf, ride a horse, sail board, water ski, take a craft lesson, all for nominal charges, or tour the grounds with one of the staff, a ruse Miller figured, to entice buyers for the enormously expensive shops the resort featured.

He checked his watch and figured it was too late to go to the beach so he decided instead to make plans to attend the Manager's party. Two and one half hours to go. This gave him lots of time for a long shower in the trickle provided by his bent, pipeline.

******

Billy examined herself in the mirror and made a face. She knew she looked good but then she always did . . . it was her job. The outfit she'd purchased from the boutique fit her like a glove and the white contrasted sharply with her tan. She selected a pair of small ruby drop earrings and a matching necklace, grabbed her clutch purse and placed a call to the front desk.

Carlos went over his instructions with her and they shared a brief argument over each other's common sense then he told her to be outside in ten minutes when the cart with Winston Graves would pick her up. Miller wouldn't know that she hadn't come down unannounced, but deliberately, to help her father with the resort's potential investor. The fact that she had no accommodation was another sore point but she still hoped to see Carlos successful - in business as well as personal.

Winston had made it a point to ingratiate himself with management so he would appear to his clients that he was a well known and popular personage about the resort. With golden promises of investing, Carlos had extended extra privileges to his guest, one being the company of his daughter at the party.

When Miguel arrived he barely tipped his head as she greeted Winston Graves with a peck on the cheek and allowed him to help her into the cart. Apparently Miguel didn't approve, Billy thought. They arrived at the center and from there made their grand entrance to the pool patio, shaking hands with Carlos and some of the staff and greeting other owners and guests.

Shelia Burrows seemed to receive an extra embrace without arousing Billy's suspicion, as she carefully reintroduced the investors. Helen took over, guiding the couple past a line of the more established guests, those who had been coming to Windy Palms when it was a fledgling vacation spot. Waiters rushed to deliver glasses of champagne and hors d'ouvres, hovering nearby to fetch more of whatever was needed. Winston worked the crowd with his undeniable skills and the couple attracted a large retinue of enthusiastic joiners; the client timeshare investors seemed impressed.

Shelia, having done her duty, made it a point to stay clear of Winston, content with simply watching him work the crowd with his escort hanging on his arm. She had done a day's duty and was hoping to just relax for a change. Carlos Estrada's daughter was undeniably attractive but as she watched she could tell that her performance was one of practiced professionalism . . . much like Winston's.

Ironically she compared her own performance with theirs, acknowledging that they were all playing roles for gain of one kind or another. She accepted a drink from a passing waiter and joined a laughing group of vacationers recounting their daily adventures.

The patio's colourful lanterns and decorations gave the entire area a festive glow and the crowd seemed to expand in its effect, attracting the various candlelit seating areas that quickly filled with guests in all manner of attire. Miller was pleased to find that he was among a handsome group that chose to honour the event by dressing up and he assumed a suave demeanor as he accepted a glass from a white-jacketed server and strode casually into the middle of the crowd.

His cotton jacket, a purchase suggested by a saleslady who claimed to travel all the time and knew just what was practical and chic, compared poorly with the custom blazers and shirts worn by the other men. Still, he felt confident about himself. After all he was staying in the same resort wasn't he?

Trays of interesting nibbles flowed through the mingling guests with practiced efficiency and he sampled everything. A quintet of guitarists, clad in traditional costume, struck up a lively background of music and as the sun closed its eyes for the night the patio took on a comforting, warm glow, supplemented by the endless refills of champagne.

Helen Ramirez came by and greeted him with the same attentiveness as the others and he was pleased to receive the gracious response along with an offer to introduce him to some of the other guests. He thanked her and allowed her to see him join a few conversations before drifting off to other hostess duties.

He stood by adding comments to the conversation and quickly learned that acceptance was based on one's income class and location in the resort. Apparently Casa Faro was more of a joke than a serious location that would permit membership. He slunk away and found a space on a ledge surrounding a garden of fragrant plantings.

Laughing, chattering couples strolled past driving him deeper into his depression over being alone. He stopped a passing waiter and took more than his share of items from the tray then sat and ate, scanning the crowd as he did, hoping to see someone, anyone with whom he might strike up a conversation. What he really wanted was Billy but it seemed that he'd burned that bridge . . . or at least set it afire.

He began to think his holiday was a huge error, and regretted spending even the smaller amount of money of his own for a week of misery, when he spotted the back of a white dress across the patio. It stood out like a beacon on the incredibly gorgeous figure of the woman wearing it. He stood for a better view and nearly dropped his drink as the woman turned and took the arm of a tall, silver-haired man in a white blazer and navy pants-it was Billy!

He set his glass down and threaded his way through the crowd toward her. She was laughing and hugging her companion's arm as they strolled toward the pool to admire the array of floating flowers. Miller cut across the patio, bumping his way through the clique of resort royalty and around to the opposite side of the pool near the bar.

He stared at her, at her almost impossible beauty, as she hung on the man's arm, listening and laughing as he talked. Miller wet his lips and tentatively lifted a hand when she looked his way but she showed no indication of having seen him and he put his hand back in his pocket. Served him right he thought, she was working and a nobody like him would only be a hindrance to that work. He gave up and meandered to the bar.

Winston, with Billy hanging intently on his arm, strolled through the crowd around the pool, shaking hands and patting backs. She laughed at something and looked across the lighted water and saw Miller staring at her. His hand came up again and dropped as she looked away without acknowledging him.

That did it. Face it he thought, business and Miller do not mix . . . or maybe it's just Miller. He stayed with their progress for a minute or two then watched as, after chatting with several couples and listening to mutual complimentary tributes, they rounded the pool and headed for the bar.

"Senor Hunt." The voice caused him to turn and he found the massive bartender holding a cushion-sized hand up in greeting. "Enjoying the festivities? Can I get you a drink?"

"Hi. Aah, I don't think so. I've had quite a bit of free champagne already." He wandered over and hoisted himself onto a stool.

"All my drinks to you are free, Senor Hunt. Manager's orders."

"Really? Because I'm exiled to the lighthouse no doubt."

Mendoza didn't respond, instead he busied himself pouring and mixing then setting a large blue coloured drink, decorated with fruit and a long straw, in front of Miller. "You will like this, senor. It is an island special, guaranteed to lift your spirits and encourage pleasure."

Miller laughed. "Everything down here is island this or that. Does anybody realize that this place isn't on an island?"

"My humble bar is an island, senor. An island in the middle of extraordinary beauty."

Miller shook his head in apology. "Can't argue there, Mendoza." He took a sip of the drink and sat back, eyes crossing and his throat constricting. "Good God," he rasped. "What is this?"

"I call it, las escobilla. Good, si?"

"How can I tell," Miller coughed. "My throat is gone. What does- las- whatever mean?"

"I think in English it is, pipe cleaners."

"You've got that right, shi-"

"Senorita Estrada!" Mendoza interrupted. "You embarrass our ancient Aztec gold with such beauty."