Miller turned to see a large crowd of couples pushing across the patio and finding favourite tables. A few nodded toward Billy as they settled in and soon the entire patio was full, with several white-jacketed waiters bustling between the tables. Miller noted that their table was set well away from the others like an exclusive island and the various guests kept glancing their way with deferential smiles.

"You seem to be well known here."

She didn't answer, instead she sat back smiling as Henry reappeared with a large tray of food. Miller watched salads being tossed onto their plates with un-requested condiments and flat slivers of white fish with rice and more coloured paste-brown this time. A basket of steaming rolls and a bowl of whipped butter replaced the cut flower vase and the strange drinks were substituted with huge goblets of ruby red wine.

"Magnifico, Henry. Mucho gracias." Billy lifted her wine glass toward Miller and toasted their new friendship. He happily followed.

The food was indeed magnifico and the wine on top of the other drink left him with a floaty feeling head. He stared happily at Billy, registering her features through a kind of blurry haze. Her mouth held his eyes when she spoke and then her eyes when he answered. Small pastries appeared as the empty plates vanished and the wine glass never seemed to empty.

They fed each other across the table, tiny bites of delicate cream-filled pastry that showered the tablecloth with a blizzard of crumbs. Miller found that his attention was failing to focus and when suddenly the loud strum of a guitar sounded by his chair he gave a surprised start and he fixed on a stunning young woman with raven black hair and huge dark eyes who was holding a large Spanish guitar across her ample chest and singing softly in Spanish.

Billy sat back and watched Miller as he shifted around in his chair to more appreciate the performance. The woman swayed to her rhythm as she cooed what was obviously a seductive Spanish love song and the guitar accentuated her physical gestures which were all directed at Miller.

"She's very good," he said, looking briefly at Billy.

"Oh yes . . . very."

Miller lost himself in the song, his head still fuzzy, forcing concentration on the singer with appreciation, returning the dazzling smile as she leaned toward him warbling the last lines and finishing with a skillful allegro and a deep curtsy. The crowd applauded with a series of shouted laughs and oles! Miller joined in the applause, holding it until the woman left the patio, blowing kisses to the crowd.

"Pretty good, eh?" He drained his glass and stared stupidly at Billy.

"Henry always succeeds in wowing the crowd." She covered a knowing smile with her own glass. Miller kept staring, his face forming the expression of his confusion as her words slowly registered.

"Henry?"

"Our young male waiter." Billy set her glass down and reached across the table for his hand. "He's the house entertainment. You should see his dinner show."

"Henry!"

"He's a female impersonator, Miller... at least for now. He's been trying for some time to raise enough money to tackle his situation seriously."

"Henry?"

She squeezed his hand and let go. "C'mon, it's time to meet Juan and head back to the resort."

"Henry . . . what about our bill? His words slurred together and it sounded like, 'waterbottlebrill'.

"It is all taken care of." She stood and came around to his chair, assisting him to his feet. He walked woodenly under her guidance across the patio and out to the front. Henry? Gregory was waiting with his hands out and Billy gave him a huge hug and they traded some amused conversation while Miller stood weaving by the drive. The van appeared and braked to a dusty halt beside Miller and just as he was following Billy into the van a hand on his arm drew him back.

"I'm glad you enjoyed my song, Senor Hunt." Two arms encircled his neck and his cheek received a long, damp kiss, leaving a lipstick template of two full lips on the skin. Henry backed away and clutched his hands together as Miller reeled around and fell into the van.

DAY 2

The shaft of sun burned into his face and he groaned aloud, flopping around and putting his back to the annoyance. Miller's mouth had the texture of felt and he tried to get some saliva without success. Groaning again he sat up and blinked painfully into the harsh sunlight streaming in the window across from his bed. The huge brilliant ball sat on the horizon as if floating on the ocean.

He stared about the room wondering where he was and slowly realized he was in the bed in Casa Faro. He tossed back the covers and saw that he was wearing his pants but no shirt. His head ached and his eyes were still burning even out of the sun. Another, longer groan when he saw it was only six-thirty and he staggered to the sink and turned on the sputtering taps. Rust and brown water exploded in bursts for a few seconds then it cleared somewhat and Miller splashed some onto his face.

He toweled briskly, feeling his mind begin to mesh and at the same time his memory slipped into gear as he recalled Billy, El Diaz, the terrifying salsa, the food and . . . Henry. He leaned toward the dusty mirror seeing the remnants of a lip imprint and grappled for the soap.

After washing and shaving and double-checking his cheek he wandered out to the platform to take in the view. Once again it filled his heart with its magnificence and he leaned on the rail, closing his eyes letting the sun's warmth massage his aching head.

Somewhere below he could hear voices and laughter and when he turned his face slightly he could catch the scent of the jungle of flowers at the base of the lighthouse. A speck of white sail stood out against the marine blue water and he imagined himself sprawled alone on the aft deck with the carpet of water stretching endlessly around him under an equally endless sky.

The strains of guitar music wafted up from the resort patio and his eyes blinked open nervously as the image of Henry streaked his mind. He went back inside, dressed then picked up the phone and dialed the desk for a ride-it was time to start enjoying the holiday described in the brochure. Moments later as Miguel was tooting the horn of the people mover, Miller made his way downstairs and through the mob of bushes to the roadway.

"Buenos dias, Senor Hunt."

"Back at you, Miguel."

"¿Qué?"

"Buenos dias to you."

"Aah, si, si." A huge smile split the round face and the cart jumped dangerously down the hill and around toward the resort.

"Restaurante, por favor." Miller said, holding his forehead.

"Si, si. Fonda Anita." Miguel swung onto a side trail that Miller thought was for goats and after a hair-raising thirty seconds of blind passage through the wall of elephant leaf plants, the cart bounced out onto a paved drive not fifty feet from the dining room.

Miguel braked to a halt and bobbed his head happily as Miller dismounted unsteadily, pausing for a moment to watch his ride depart in a quick spurt.

********

Fonda Anita was cool and soothing out of the sun and a study in mosaic tiles. They were everywhere. Floors. Walls. Ceiling. All decorated with animals and birds of brilliant plumage. Large, slow rotating ceiling fans stirred the petals of flowers adorning every available surface and when Miller was being taken to a table he could smell the aroma of frying bacon carried on the faint breeze.

"I have a food chit," he said, showing it to the waitress."

She smiled and snatched it from his hand, leaving him with a glass of water in trade. A moment later an older looking, large beige woman with hair rolled into a giant bun at the side of her head appeared. She wore a long dress with a colourful stole over her shoulders and as she drifted up to his table, she placed an expensively manicured hand on his shoulder.

"Senor Hunt. I am Anita de la Gonango el Nutrado, the manager of this fine establishment."

"Oh, well my pleasure, Senora- aah, Anita."

"Senorita, Anita de la Gonango el Nutrado."

"Oh. My apologies. This is a lovely room, Senorita." Miller sipped his water.

"Yes, but not for breakfast, Senor. This is for the brunch attendees."

"Brunch? I don't think I want a brunch."

"No, you don't." She placed his chit on the table and stepped back, tugging on his chair. "Our breakfast room is down those stairs and through the archway."

Miller stood and picked up his chit. "I apologize again," he said. This time through gritted teeth. As he followed her directions it occurred to him that the place was like Cheers without the benefits-everybody knew his name.

Down the stairs and through the arch, Miller found himself on a stone shelf ten feet above the beach with a scattering of picnic tables and a pygmy in huge chef's hat grinning beside a barbeque.

"Buenos dias, Senor."

Miller nodded and went to peer at what he was cooking. "Bacon?"

"Tocino, Senor."

"Tocino . . .? It looks like bacon."

"Si. Tocino."

Miller nodded and took a seat at one of the tables. There was a stack of plates and a glass with cutlery in it along with packets of dried milk and sugar. He helped himself then waited patiently to be served.