I dream of lands where summer smiles,

And soft winds blow from spicy isles,

But scarce would Ceylon's breath of flowers be sweet,

Could I not feel thy soil, New England, at my feet!

Poems of Nature: The Last Walk in Autumn

John Greenleaf Whittier

******

Lying on the beach, warmed by the tropical sun under the dappled shade of a palm tree, the grey misery of London seemed very far away. The sand was soft under her skin, the sky azure above, and a whole week of golden days and balmy nights stretched before her.

It was heartbreak that had impelled Cara to book a last minute holiday to Sri Lanka. She hadn't even thought or cared about where she went, she just wanted to get away. At twenty—one, after Declan's betrayal, she thought her whole life and happiness were over.

As a student she didn't have a lot of money to spend on her trip. After turning down a few cheap Spanish resorts for fear of being surrounded by couples and too many people in general, she'd found a last minute deal to Sri Lanka at an amazing price. A cancellation holiday, the travel agent had told her. Being sold for a fraction of the price because she had to travel the very next day.

Cara took it. She had no one to leave and nothing to lose. Anymore, anyway. A week in the sun would burn away her misery and leave her reenergised and ready to face the world again.

Here, on this island paradise, she didn't want to think about Declan. But the hurt and the betrayal haunted her. He said he had been happy for them to wait until marriage, so why had he indulged in the brassy charms of his secretary Lucinda? Cara felt so stupid, so humiliated. Declan had obviously planned for her to be the sweet and innocent little wife, while he privately enjoyed a string of mistresses.

Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted by an unwelcome shower of sand. It was flung all over her, sticking to the sun oil on her body.

Furious, she sat up and saw the culprit. A red cricket ball had landed on the beach next to her, clearly with some force given the amount of sand it had thrown up.

Just as she looked around to find out who had thrown it, a man came running towards her with a cricket bat in his hand.

"Yours, I take it?" she said, her annoyance clear in the coolness of her tone.

He scowled instead of apologising. "This is a private beach. There wasn't supposed to be anyone else on here."

Eclipsed against the sun, Cara saw that he was tall, rugged and very bronzed. There was something familiar about him, though she was sure they'd never met.

In the distance she saw several other men, clearly in the progress of playing beach cricket. They hadn't been there when she had arrived and settled herself at the far end of the beach.

"The hotel concierge directed me here," she told him.

"You're staying at the Pavilion?" When she nodded he looked even more annoyed. "My apologies for disturbing your sunbathing." He sounded anything but sorry.

"It's quite alright, I was due for a swim," she said.

His eyes flicked over her body in its bikini, far skimpier than she usually wore because it wasn't summer holiday season in England and there hadn't been much choice in the shops.

Cara felt herself flush and hoped her growing tan would hide it.

For a moment he lingered. She thought he was about to say something else so she waited.

But he turned abruptly and left her. His lack of farewell left her even more infuriated. What a rude man, she thought.

She waited until he had strode down the beach back to the other players before she rose to get in the water. If the ball came her way again, she would throw it into the sea and let him swim for it.

Dining alone didn't bother Cara. She enjoyed her solitude and she had brought a tonne of study notes with her. Her last year of university was turning out to be a rigorous one and she wanted to be prepared for the final terms.

She sat by herself on the veranda, surrounded by lush tropical plants, with some books spread out on the table as she enjoyed a pre—dinner cocktail.

Once again, her peace was disturbed.

"Your boyfriend neglecting you?"

The speaker was a man with a round, friendly face. Cara recognised him as one of a group of sporty looking men who had arrived together — rather late and looking the worse for wear — for breakfast that morning. He was with a couple of them now.

She realised he was fishing to find out whether she was here with a boyfriend or not. Inventing one might be a useful safeguard against future approaches, but then she might be forced to produce one later in the week.

"I'm actually here on a study trip."

One of the others turned over one of her books, Principles of Biochemistry.

"Hardly holiday reading, is it?" he said. "All work and no play. We're having a party tonight, why don't you come?"

Cara tried to decline but they were all insistent, teasing her by reading out quotes from her textbooks, so eventually she laughed and agreed. One party wouldn't hurt, and she could just drop in for a single drink and leave early. "Where is it?"

"Just here, at the hotel. In the front bar."