So now, because of Jack's father, she and her new husband were in their plushly modern hotel with a whole suite of three rooms to themselves. The living room had sliding doors that opened onto a terrace from where they had a good view of the water. This morning they had gotten up from bed and walked out on the terrace to see droves of white swallows flashing back and forth through the clear blue sky over the ancient white-painted architecture close to the port. Then Jack had called down to room service and had breakfast brought up to the terrace. They sat quietly in lounge chairs, sipping on strong black coffee and trying to eat these hard European rolls.

Now, as she lit a cigarette in the cafe, she realized that through the elegant morning breakfast Jack had probably been trying to make up for last night. He knew that would make more of an impression on her than more meaningless apologies. But she quickly shoved the memory of that agonizing first night together out of her mind with one quick stroke. No, she wouldn't allow herself to think of it. She had already decided this morning that some things only became worse when you stewed about them and were best left forgotten.

Her attention was suddenly occupied by Jack who was picking his way through the closely positioned tables on the sidewalk toward her table.

"That's some conversation I had with that woman over there," the tall, dark-haired young man said as he pulled out a chair and sat down. "According to her, this cafe is about the most infamous hang-out on the island."

"What did she mean by that?" Becky asked curiously and laughed. The cafe looked ordinary enough to her. Its canopied top stretched out over the sidewalk, and groups of businessmen hovered around small tables. She noticed two quaint-looking older men playing cards just inside the wide door.