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Paradise on a Deckchair

By: Egmont Grigor



Amelia lay listless, a thirty-something with an old-fashion name on a beach to die for – it was reality straight from the brochure. 

Unbelievable really, she'd thought, as usually travel 'come-ons' are doctored in the graphics design department: sunsets being colored-enhanced to ridiculous extent, the fisherman's catch lengthened to exceed the record for that species set in 1923, the surf running two meters higher than ever recorded in that locality – and that's even after hurricanes!

Fiji has 322 islands amid thousands of smaller uprisings of which 106 are inhabited. Although 106 islands sound a huge number they are scattered over tends of thousands of square miles and some are so far from Nadi Airport that they put real meaning into the word 'remote'.

Amelia had paid big bucks to secure ten days of near-isolation at a remote luxury resort. She'd arrived late yesterday on a small seaplane, the only passenger, and only one of nine tourists in residence because it was near the tail of the Hurricane Season.

"You'll only get damn boringly balmy days here," Gus the veteran pilot told her. "The hurricanes were few this year and have gone. What we are in now is the 'buffer' or safety period to ensure we don't lose tourists to a late bloody rouge blow and we avoid the damaging publicity that scares the shit out of tourists who want everything safe and sanitized." 

Amelia had laughed and appreciated the colorful character of the pilot. Although he spoke tough and thought nothing about injecting foul words into his conversation, she knew to accept it from him because he was an Australian national and everyone knows what dinkum Aussies are like.

The 33-year-old was a seasoned traveler but for the first time was traveling alone. Her usual traveling companion and husband Al, a disaster investigator, had been killed in a mine collapse along with his group inspecting the first fatal collapse. It had taken three weeks to recover Al's body and immediately after dealing with the legalities to initiate the winding up of his estate and selling the house, Amelia had boarded a flight for Fiji. She'd asked the travel agent for somewhere remote, and was satisfied this was almost as remote as it gets while still being on a recognized tourist track as she did like retaining some of the comforts of life.

At breakfast she sat alone, her back to the other tourists who straggled in. Looking through the dining room – a thatched roof on poles – on to lush vegetation with noisy colorful birds enjoying their paradise she knew she was almost there. Suddenly a giant was standing beside her – she'd heard the slap-slap of his sandals but thought it was a waitress bringing the coffee pot. From where she was sitting the guy looked seven feet tall and dressed in khaki straight out of eBay for safari-minded men. Huge white teeth flashed.

"Miss Kennedy?"

Missus actually but what did it matter? "Yes I am."

"You've asked for this?"

And there it was, that glorious brochure again. So simple, a suntanned model – she had to be a model with a body like that – asleep on a deckchair under an umbrella out from a pristine white sandy beach in six inches of incredibly blue seawater surrounding her deckchair making it her personal paradise.

The brochure had seduced Amelia the first time she saw it and now she was looking at it for perhaps the fiftieth time. "I am Thomas," said the man whose real name Amelia deduced she had little chance of pronouncing correctly. Thomas was a great name to handle. "Thirty minutes more or less outside the main entrance. I'll be there with your four-wheeler."

"You mean I drive the motorized thingy myself?"

The huge teeth gleamed at her again. "Yes, if you came for adventure. You look like such a woman, not like those fat loud-talkers from your country."

Oh thanks, Thomas, personal praise and a national insult in the same sentence. President Bush, what do I do? I'm not going to kick him; he probably weighs half a ton. 

"You'll teach me how to drive the thing?"

"We call it ride, Miss Kennedy. Yes if you wish to know how to push the start button and turn the hand throttle and apply the hand brakes I will show you."

"You mean that's all?"

"Yes."

"That's my instruction over, thank you Thomas. I'll not keep you waiting."

Child's play thought Amelia, half an hour later as she rode the four-wheel all-terrain vehicle along a well marked almost flat track the quarter mile to Seerua Beach. There was even a locality map painted on top of the fuel tank. She increased her speed to 10 mph and felt she was flying although noting the indicator thingy went way beyond that speed as the red line marked at 25 mph, above which was no-go for the fat loud-talkers from her country, giggled Amelia, as well as the sleek sporty types like herself.

In the carry-box behind her were the chef's surprise – her food for the day at the beach plus an ice-box with juices, water and wine and a carry-bag with snorkeling equipment. All she had to provide was a towel, sunhat, sun cream, sunglasses, paperback and a dressing gown in case the weather turned.

Magic.

Thomas had advised no-one had booked to go to the beach that day so she had the half-mile of sandy bay to herself. She stopped in the parking bay – motorized vehicles were prohibited from going on to the beach and began lugging her gear and provisions the twenty meters to the rim of the palms where their shade stopped as an overhang above the sands.

Amelia's mouth jawed open wide. There is was EXACTLY like in the brochure – just the sole deckchair under the umbrella in one inch of water – well the tide was coming in, wasn't it? What beach has just six inches of water 24/7? Thomas had told her the incoming tide would reach her bottom – he meant ass – three hours after her arrival. Anywhere inside the reef was safe for swimming and snorkeling but he warned being alone she should not venture beyond the reef as there could be 'nasties'.

She'd asked Thomas to elaborate but he just grinned and said she was at the resort to relax so it was better she didn't know what he meant by 'nasties'. She'd agreed with that. Sharks were okay provided they kept their mouth shut but she was terrified by the thought of poisonous sea snakes and thingies with a fatal sting.

Amelia was in a white bikini, purchased because the girl in the brochure wore a white bikini and she thought the skin-tanning clinic had given her a great 'tropical island look'. She placed into a small bag to hang from her chair the suntan cream, paperback, bottle of water, glass and bottle of wine and walked down the sandy slope and sloshed out to her chair. 

Amelia still thought it was amazing that the graphic designer working on the brochure had not exaggerated the photographic imagine he/she was working on. A couple of minutes later, sipping wine although it was only 9:15 and looking around her she realized why the imaged had not been doctored – the reality was so close to perfection that any manipulation would have made the scene appear unreal.

She sipped a Shug rouge de nois sparking pinot noir from California and sighed. This indeed was paradise. Only one thing missing – company, preferable male. Such is the concept of paradise she thought: even when it's attained you still want to tweak it a little.

The rising tide finally drove Amelia on to dry land; Thomas had said to leave the chair where it was as it was safely anchored. Amelia had lunch, read, dozed, read and dozed the afternoon away. Returning like a veteran – red-lining at 25 mph – she felt at peace with herself for the first time since learning of the tragedy. "I'm okay now Al – goodbye she said," the bike cutting through the breeze fluttering her long brunette hair behind her like the tail of a galloping horse.

She slowed at the 5 mph speed restriction wishing she could wrap the throttle and prove to Thomas she was a quiet adventuress. He rolled off a hammock at the vehicle and equipment depot and didn't bother asking if she'd had a great day – he just smiled at her grin that was a foot wide.

"Tomorrow?"

She nodded.

"There's no-one else booked for the beach tomorrow. You will be isolated again – sorry."

"I'll survive – you don't have arguments when you're alone."

He grinned and advised her to request perhaps a well oaked chardonnay tomorrow as a pack of tuna was coming in on the seaplane on the morning flight. It would be so fresh the fillets would still be flapping.

She grinned and slipped twenty bucks into his hand.

"There's no need, Miss Kennedy."

"I know, call me Amelia."

"Thank you. Amelia – nice name."

She smiled. It had taken years, but the name had grown on her after she'd left her teen years. 

Amelia dressed for dinner, just a red sundress and matching mid-heel high fashion thong sandals with jeweled straps. Buried so remotely from the world, and being a resort, she'd decided to go without underwear to enjoy the feeling of being naughty.

She sat at the bar, alone of course, and immediately a man approached and invited her to join him and his wife and their two friends. They were from Ireland of all places, and here was Amelia thinking her home in Chicago was a long way away. They had a lovely evening – a great meal and all drank plentifully. She was sad they were flying out in the morning.

Yes it was tuna and the chardonnay had been packed. On this her second day Amelia had not brought a book – why waste time reading in paradise.

Thomas was waiting under the main entrance canopy with a four-wheeler, yellow this time, and whistled lightly when she appeared in just her white bikini, washed over night. He handed her a beautiful flower – "From my wife who works in reception," Thomas said. "She saw you talking to me yesterday and so she gives you this flower which protects her from your taking me away from her."

The grin told a lie.

"You wife sent me the flower."

"Yes."

"And she is concerned about me and you."

"No," he laughed. "That was just my humor; she thinks you are very beautiful though."

As Amelia mounted Thomas said, "It's Wednesday, you may see the German today as he doesn't write on Wednesdays and Sundays so he walks around the island on those days. Do not be frightened – the side of his face is injured from when he was knifed in a brawl in Suva; he goes to Sydney soon for a skin surgeon to fix him up."

"Does he speak English?"

"Better that you Americans," Thomas grinned. 

Once out of the restricted speed area, Amelia rode red-line all the way to the beach, feeling happy, free and enjoying this great adventure.

She lugged all of her supplies at once, to avoid making the second trip. There was her chair, in wet sand as little ripples of water reached up to it and ebbed. Thomas had told her the tide would be just under fifty minutes later than yesterday, so she knew what to expect. She went for a swim and after a while stood to gaze at the millpond beyond the reef and out to two distant islands. The trade wind was not up yet to disturb the water beyond the reef.

"Good morning, are you American?"

Ah, the German. Let's see how he guessed or has he been talking to Thomas?

"Yes, are you German?"

"Ha, been talking to Thomas or one of his boys?"

"Yes, I have not met Thomas's children."

"Thomas is the resort's outdoors manager – the men he supervises are loosely called boys."

Amelia waded through the water towards him, her heart pounding. Gawd, he was good looking despite the healing scar on the side of his face. In fact physically he was a superb specimen in his late thirties. She'd been expecting a balding, pot-bellied writer.

"How did you know I was American?"

He said she had the confidence to be in a remote area alone; she wore a bikini presumably without a thought that Fijians, especially the women, regard immodest clothing as offensive and that she stood in the sea with her legs apart like a guy.

"I don't believe this," Amelia said indignantly.

"The bit about immodest clothing is correct that attitudes ease within resort areas. The bit about legs open was made up but for a moment there I thought you were a boy because your ass is so slender and it's true women of many nations would never venture out here to a deserted beach alone."

"Very peculiar thinking. So how did you know?"

"I was out reef fishing with Thomo last night."

Shrieking, Amelia scoop up two handfuls of water and tossed it at the German. He stood smiling and didn't flinch, the water falling just short of him. "Come closer," he goaded, "But being a woman you'll miss."

Well, this guy had Amelia's pulse rate up out of parking speed where it had lain for many weeks. She fixed her green eyes on his blue ones like a huntress. "Be my guest for dinner tonight."

"Okay, or we could go up there under the palms and do it now."

"Do what?"

"Fuck – it would be more economic for you, saving you the cost of a meal."

Amelia dug her toes into the sand, adjusting her mind to cope with that outrageous comment.

"Dinner or nothing?"

"I often turn down the invitation to fuck but rarely turn down food. Eight o'clock would suit me."

"Then 7:58 it is. Please leave your foul mouth at home."

"My apologies," he said, standing to attention and bowing. "Max Klein at your service."

Misinterpreting the exaggerated formality of his apology and final phrase, Amelia said she was Amelia Kennedy and if she wanted servicing she'd let Max know.

Max came close to losing it but he managed his recovery well. "It is a great privileged to meet you Amelia. Tonight at 7:58 in the bar then?"

She nodded.

"Have, er, have a nice day."

"Auf wiedersehen!"

He flashed her a smile and walked away, Amelia taking a thoughtfully look at his slightly swaying hips. Sex with Max might very well add happiness to her holiday but he'd have to suggest it and handle her carefully as it would be the first time for her since the morning of Al's death. He also better bring condoms.

Oh God, she sighed, disturbed by that last thought. I've already decided he can take me to bed.

Amazingly, paradise had lost its edge. The time dragged and all afternoon Amelia kept looking at her watch. She packed up and practically ran to the four-wheeler.

One of Thomas's 'boys' took the bags off her to return them to the kitchen. She raced to her bathroom, brushed her hair and went to the hair saloon. But it was locked, a notice on the door, 'We re-open when the tourist season resumes.'

"May I help you ma'am?" said a woman, diverting Amelia who was vaguely thinking about kicking down the door.

The woman towered above Amelia – she looked about 6ft 4in.

"No, it's okay," Amelia said, taking a nervous half pace backwards.

"I am Anna, Miss Kennedy. Did you like the flower I sent you?"

"Oh, Mrs Thomas. Yes, most beautiful – one of the delicate flowers I've ever seen. Unfortunately I lost in on the track traveling too fast."

"Oh, doing wheelies; I must report you to management," Anna giggled, "No hairdresser but I do quite a good job."

"Really, how wonderful."

"Please wait while I fetch the key and report I'm taking a break. What do you think of the German?"

"What?"

"I asked what..."

"Sorry, I heard. I didn't quite know how to answer. He seems charming and..."

"Lovable?"

Despite the huge flush and gasp, Amelia laughed along with Anna who was almost killing herself. 

Amelia arrived at the bar at 8:10 – well, she may as well test him. She was delighted he did not glance at his watch so gave him a pass mark. She was in full underwear and a simple white dress with plunging neckline and gathering around the waist and white low heel slings. She wondered if he might think she was over-dressed.

"Ah, appropriately dressed because I'm a formal guy on a dinner date," Max said, dressed in a lightweight suit and opened neck shirt.

He looked like Mr Cool and Amelia felt like she could eat him, in theory.

They both chose a champagne cocktail and on the second one Max came close to finishing the evening when he said softly, "Tell me about your divorce."

He was sorry, quite distressed, when Amelia explained her recent change in status to widow. Max then begged her not to continued, but she did and for the first time remained dry-eyed. She was both saddened and relieved at that outcome. Max then explained he was a divorcee – he'd found her in bed with her father in a most compromising situation. 

Max explained about his facial wound – he was swept against the side of a coral reef in a tidal rip and foolishly attempted to save his catch of fish instead of protecting himself. The rumor was he'd been knifed in a brawl, a rumor he'd not attempted to correct, not even with Thomas. 

"Then why tell me the truth – why not continue the lie? It doesn't matter either way to me?"

"You...well...um?"

"Yes?" Amelia pressed.

"I am unable to deceive you because it matters to me you know the truth," he said, gruffly and stood, red-faced and suggested they go to their table.

An hour late Max was gone. 

Amelia, bewildered and virtually unkissed – he did deliver a sweet goodnight kiss – she went to bed determined not to weep but lost out on that brave intention.

Amelia's bedside phone went at 5:30 a.m. In the whole world only her travel agent and the resort knew where Amelia Kennedy was in residence. She frowned and picked up the phone to listen to the wrong number apology but it was HIM!

"We begin our day in a few minutes. I'm at the entrance with two four-wheelers – Thomo is taking us across the island to a reef where we can watch the sun rise out of the ocean, well, so it will appear. Wear stout shoes to walk on the coral and bring a jacket. I have packed breakfast and Thomo will supply the fishing gear and lamps; he'll meet us there."

"Lamps?"

"It will be dark – we need to be on the reef by 6:00 to see the pre-day color show; sunrise for today is 6:16."

"Give me no more than ten minutes; I simply adore adventures."

At the greeting, Max kissed her thoroughly – she wanted more but he pulled away and said to ride out quietly. There were no roads on the island, just tracks for four-wheelers. Acting on the advice of Max she kept fifty yards behind his tail lights to avoid the dust ribbon behind his four-wheeler.

They parked their ATV's. 

"Where's Thomas?" she asked.

"Here," Thomas said, looming in front of them, switching on a lamp under his chin and sticking out his tongue grotesquely.

Amelia screamed and turned to run but Max caught her and spun around her around. He and Thomo were cackling away like a hen rising from her egg. The noise prompt birds in the lush vegetation around them to launch into an early dawn chorus. That brought the giggle out of Amelia and Thomas rumbled a belly laugh when she said he wasn't a nice man to know. 

The lighting of the predawn sky left Amelia almost breathless and she was almost disappointed when the colors faded to pale hues as the sun began to appear. But the fish began biting so she could only glance at the rising sun as she worked her hand line – Thomas only used rods in boat fishing in deference to other fishers. Here he liked to fish the traditional way; he'd even thought to bring his mother's gardening gloves to protect Amelia's hands.

"Six fish – that's enough," Thomas said when Max landed his first fish – Thomo having caught three and Amelia two.

"But why, they are biting well, this is so much fun," Amelia protested.

"If we only take what we need we won't be wasteful with the stock of fish," Thomas said, almost apologizing. "It is our custom."

"Yes, of course, I understand." Amelia said hastily. "A very wise tradition."

She and Max sat back to back eating yoghurt, fruit and then chicken sandwiches while Thomas stood eating his breakfast and relating some of the customs of his people.


Paradise on a Deckchair



"You will meet some of the old people tonight, but please excuse them," Max said Their English is not good, eh?"

"Tonight?"

"Yes, Thomo's wife Akanisi or Anna to you enjoyed your company when she did your hair and wanted to introduce you to traditional Fijian family life and to join her daughter, her mother and her grandmother and Thomo's mother to cook for you."

"Oh Thomas, that's lovely; what should I bring."

"Just that fabulous smile," he grinned. "You call me Thomo now because you are my friend, and it's easier for you, being one letter less."

"There is a shortened form for my name Thomo – Milly. But I never use it because I am named in honor of an aviator..."

"A women pilot," Thomos said.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"From school – Amelia someone was lost in the Pacific near the end of flying around the world in the mid-1930s."

"Oh Thomo, it's wonderful you know that," Aemlia said, startling him by leaning forward to clutch him around the legs. "I cannot believe that someone so remotely placed like you would know that."

"That teacher was a woman and in her younger day was both a missionary and a pilot."

"So, she too was a fan of Amelia Earhart, one of the bravest of brave women of the Mechanical Age, Thomas."

"That means the Machine Age?"

"Yes Thomo. Thank you for telling me this – I shall always remember this moment."

Max laughed and warned Amelia to be careful as she might be spooking Thomo."

"Not me Max. I'm well out of the Stone Age."

They all laughed and then Thomo picked up the gear; their immersion in dawn glory was over.

Back at the ATV's Max and Amelia waved goodbye to Thomo as he rode off.

Max said, "May I come back to your suite for a shower?"

"Yes of course."

"With you?"

"I-I suppose so."

"That's half-hearted"

"It wasn't meant to be," Amelia replied, her confidence swinging back under control. "Yes of course, I'd love that."

"I'll only soap your back and then reach under your arms to fondle your breasts. Anything that happens after that will be your fault."

"My fault?"

"Yes, you sexy charmer."

The ride back almost half a mile of the quite small island was a mixture of real and surreal for Amelia. She saw trees, vines and flowers with real tropical flavor, some of which she'd never seen before but then her own image would float across what she was viewing, pulsating, extremely white and spread horizontally, obviously in the process of receiving sexual favor – only no male was evident. With her arms spread like that, her face one huge smile, she looked like a sated queenly butterfly. 

The image faded as they came to a small clearing with three huts and a woman working in a vegetable garden standing upright to wave at them. Ameilia waved back and that scene blurred into a blue background and the she became dimly conscious she was glimpsing a gigantic bed and the woman standing waving had turned into a sleek statue; she almost steered the ATV off the road when identifying the statue as a huge penis. Shaking her head to clear it to concentrate on returning back to the lodge safely Amelia trembled, her blood was surging; she fancied she had a terrified look on her face: that penis was enormous.

With relief that came to the five-hole – yes five hole – golf course and she could see the lodge beyond it. She parked alongside Max's bike on the grass opposite the main entrance. "After breakfast we go to the beach and then walk around my island, or what I dream is my island."

"Breakfast – what was that we had on the reef?"

"An appetizer. For breakfast we eat with Thomo in the staff dinning room – one of the fish we caught this morning. The walk will take us three hours, perhaps four even five if you halt frequently to smell the flowers."

"And swim?"

"Yes, on the north-east beach which has no reef; it shallows abruptly so there is surf – that is if you don't mind swimming where there are sharks."

"Sharks?" Amelia trembled but Max grinned and said he'd never seen anything but harmless-to-humans sand sharks and they kept clear of breaking surf. She wondered what protection he'd offer; and that reminded her he would go without penetration if he was without condoms. Don't weaken in this seductive paradise, she lectured herself: no condom, no entry.

"Will I see where you live and work?"

"Yes, right near the end of our journey."

Friendly staff passing through the foyer and the receptionist – fortunately not Anna – called greetings and Amelia wondered if they would be thinking where those two are going – oh, off to a dirty shower together. But their seemingly everlasting smiles didn't leave their faces so Amelia knew guilt was making her think unreasonably. But why guilt – she was a free agent?

Max was singing in the shower in German, words she was unable to understand. Smiling, she assumed because it was rousing it would be a German hunting song; she smiled, noting her had rather a good voice.

It was one of those showers built into the corner of the bathroom – open, self-draining floor, no shower box with steamy safety glass to hide from or be hidden from.

Her appearance in the bathroom strangled the song in Max's throat. "My God."

Amelia felt the blood flood her face and flow over her throat and across her breasts, upon which his gaze was fixed. She knew she had superb breasts – since around eighteen she'd been told that and admired them herself. When she was twenty-two a very sensitive lover, who wrote poetry, had said, "Not too large, wondrous points, firm and overall exquisitely shaped with taut elasticity that will produce bile in the mouths of envious women who gaze upon them." 

She remembered coming over Gaston's mouth later in that erotic session almost drowning the poor darling. These days some of the elasticity had eased but surprising she appeared to be sexier according to what she'd been told by Al; he alleged men loved the sway in women's tits – his exact words. Amelia walked towards Max drawing the curtain over Al's memory. Her life without Al was about to really start because when you're under forty and are without children life seems to revolve around sex and one particular person, doesn't it? Was Max this special person? Amelia almost floated into an orgasm at that surprise thought.

As promised, Max soaped her back, taking a long time about it. She failed to keep her hair out of the water but so what? Millions of woman around the world not receiving special attention like this would give their ring finger to be in this situation. When Max reached under her arms and reached her already firm nipples they tightened into hard rod ends. She sighed and asked about the condom. He sighed and said in his bag out on the bike.

"Run out and fetch it," she giggled, feeling him sticking into her dangerously close to that no-go orifice.

He didn't answer but she felt his grip tighten in frustration.

"Never mind," she said happily, dropping to her knees, breaking through his grip. Something thick and warm popped into her mouth like a homing device. She rolled her tongue and Max groaned, his upper body thudding against the wall. Amelia was aware she was an accomplished cock sucker; she thought that was because she gave the action her full attention and regarded it as a complete sexual activity and not merely something to tack on like an entrée. 

Actually she couldn't understand women not being ardent cock-suckers – what else filled one's mouth being so warm and thick AND alive and came with gut-wrenching groans from him? Name anything else in a household activity that kept the male transfixed that wasn't on the TV screen!

Two hands rammed on to her head, not hurtfully, but rigid with suppressed rising emotion, indicating that the now thicker and very much a throbbing cock on the make was about to blow. Pulling away from the manly sized throbber, angry purple and red in color, blood vessels really up proud, Amelia aimed the head at her cleavage and with the other hand softly squeezed Max's balls. He bellowed and ejaculated as if there was no tomorrow; the intensity widening her eyes in glee.

"All this for me," she cooed and Max sank to his knees to join her on the floor. Although his vision could still be somewhat blurred he said "Oh fuck!" as Amelia lifted a breasts and the tip of her tongue delicately slid forth to snare a morsel for a tasting – perhaps the ultimate gesture of subservience a woman can demonstrate to a man,

Amelia pushed Max back slightly to allow her to bend into the water flow.

They both watched silently as the gentle stream worked to dislodge the thick milky streams and blobs from her near flawless skin and wash them away to begin their very unromantic journey to the waste water treatment plant.

Max thrust forward and they had there first real real kiss, no tongues as yet but a passionate meeting of lips. Max stood and pulled Amelia to her feet, keeping his groin away from her anticipating that his cock would still be dripping. He's such a gentleman, Amelia fancied. Oh yeah, after allowing me to do that to him!

Max stroked her bedraggled hair away from her eyes and gave her presumably what he thought was the ultimate compliment, although Amelia didn't quite know what to think."

"I've had my cock sucked in a dozen countries but none of those experiences delivered with your expertise; in my opinion you are the ultimate cock-sucker."

"Thank you darling," Amelia said, pressing against him to kiss all over his wet face, keeping the outside of her thigh against his now drooping cock. "It helps when a gal has something real nice to work on."

As Max turned off the shower Amelia went to the rails and threw him a towel.

As Max finished toweling his face he found Amelia staring at him.

"Will we make love during our walk?"

He leered. "You mean will we fuck? I would think at least a couple of times and then after dinner tonight I propose fucking you senseless."

Amelia grabbed the towel rail for support as she smiled, encouragingly.

The only embarrassing moment for Amelia came when they were dressing: she realized when kissing Max's face in the shower she'd called him darling. Well, he hadn't pulled away in horror or even worse vomited. So either he was immune to women being forward or accepted it as a well-founded endearment. She'd have to wait to find out, wouldn't she?

At 3:30 they reached a reef, creating a bay as at the other end about 50 yards away was another beach and Max told her beyond that was world-class Seerua Beach only the world didn't know about it because of its remoteness.

"This is the reef that Thomo and I usually fish."

"Nice – and where's your house?"

He pointed and Amelia could see the dwelling, just a hut really – open at the front with just a roof and behind that were the enclosed living quarters.

"Come," he said, placing her arm over his shoulders and his arm around her waist. You must sleep now and it's been a long day for you. I'll wake you to see the sunset while we have a drink. I'll take a nap myself."

The bed was on one side of the open section with a cane armchair placed to look straight out along the reef and across the ocean to the far-off islands – four of them from this angle. There was a table and chair where Max said he wrote. Amelia had learned during the walk when they weren't engaged in the prelude to sex that he wrote romantic novels set in Old Germany.

"I haven't spotted any of your books."

"You will not have; I have not yet been translated into English. Just Russian and Italian so far."

"Then you are successful as a writer?"

"More than adequately so. The demand for my books is such that my publisher allows me to locate way off here away from her grasp."

"Does she grasp it often?"

"I don't get what you mean?"

"You cock."

Max flushed and grinned. "Every time I go to her office in Munich but alas she's not high on the list of great cock-suckers. She's fifty-five and has a very greedy mouth."

"Then I hope she'd a good publisher."

"Very good; without her and the excellence of her company I would not have been successful in my writing endeavors. She understands that promotion through sustained publicity is the key. When I first came here five years ago to have this hut built she called a press conference and media published and broadcast her lament: "I've lost my best author; where is he? He's gone into retreat somewhere in the South Pacific – this is a disaster, just when he's become so hot as a writer."

Max smiled. "She wore a silver metallic dress with her tits looking like they were molded by a breast plate and she plied the media with top quality liquor. She charmed their ethics away from them and they pushed to have their stories they produced used. As a result my book sales soared. Then in round two, she flew two magazine journalists with their photographers out here to interview me – Gretel knew all along where I was as she made me a cash advance to buy the power generator to charge my computer battery and install a proper kitchen with gas-fired appliances. Those two magazines published the story of me and my magnificent retreat and that's why I have residential privileges on this resort-owned island. Just over half the bookings now come from Germany."

After putting Amelia to bed for a rest, Max sat at his desk and told her a story - Amelia knew of the name connection – but Max injected either true or make-believe into the story of Princess Amelia Sophie of Hanover. 

Under law governing succession to the British throne, Princess Amelia's grandfather became King of Great Britain in 1714 following the death of Queen Anne. Amelia's father became Duke of Cornwall, and was created Prince of Wales on September 27, 1714. Amelia became Her Royal Highness Princess Amelia Sophia of Wales. She moved to Great Britain with her family and resided at St James's Palace in London. In 1727, King George I died and her father succeeded him as King George II. Amelia was now styled Her Royal Highness, The Princess Amelia Sophia.

"She brought the name Amelia to Great Britain," Max said. 

"I know," Amelia said, drifting into sleep. Max woke her just before sunset. "Wash – there is a small bathroom inside."

He gave her the chair at the table and he sat on a stool; he looked excited when handing her a tropical cocktail, the base of which was dark rum and brandy.

"Sip it slowly; it's very potent."

"What?" she asked, watching his excitement mount.

"My next novel, I'll insist that Gretel publishes it in both German and English – it shall be my fanciful account of the life of Princess Amelia Sophia."

"What a lovely idea – but based on historical fact?"

"Yes but why do you ask?" "I've always wondered how the Germans seized the monarchy without an invasion."

"Well, I shall tell you."

"No, I'll buy the English version of your novel – it might be your only sale," she giggled.

"You cheeky bitch," he laughed. "Come, we are due at Thomo's home for dinner in half an hour – it will be island style fare. No time for sex."

"No way," Amelia laughed. "I can barely walk as it is."

It had to end. For one thing Amelia was keeping Max away from his writing. She took a photo of the quite large group farewelling her, Max, Thomo and Anna in the centre; it was a photo that would go into her principal album labeled on the cover, 'Memories Forever'.

Max stood with her as Amelia was about to board. She asked for not the first time over recent days, "You'll come to Chicago and stay with me?"

"I promise," he said, leaving Amelia to hope desperately that wasn't a lie.

She kissed the scarred side of his face; he was quite used to her doing that now. He was due to fly to Sydney soon for surgery.

Amelia wept rivers and Max squeezed her tightly and said goodbye darling. She knew that was the first time he'd called her that but was too distressed to really react beyond squeezing him in desperate affection.

The seaplane had arrived with a full load – the tourist season was underway again. But she was the only outward passenger. The pilot was American – lanky and dull altogether making it quite one of the most boring flights in her life. All he wanted to talk about was himself.

They landed in Nadi Bay and as her luggage was being placed in the courtesy car for the short trip to the international airport when, "Say, I'd recognized that ass anywhere – how are you love? Did Max score with you?"

It was motor-mouth Gus, the guy who'd flown Amelia to paradise. Without thinking she cried "Oh Gus," and went crying to him.

"Hush, hush, my baby," he said, "It always has to end."

Amelia attempted to draw away and he freed her – reluctantly judging by his sigh.

"Max is going to write about a historical namesake of mine," she sniffed.

"If Max had any sense he'd write about you," Gus grinned, reaching into his top left-hand button-down pocket of his white shirt. "Remember my lovely, it's not always there for the taking; sometimes one has to work for it."

Amelia kissed Gus goodbye and sat beside the driver wondering what Gus had been talking about...'sometimes one has to work for it.' Work for what? And what was this paper Gus had taken from his pocket and thrust into her hand?

At the airport counter the clerk was shaking her head saying Amelia's ticket was a Chicago-Fiji-Chicago booking of a type that allowed no variation. 

"Please call your supervisor, Amelia said, in a tone Al had called her dangerous voice.

"May I help you Mrs Kennedy," asked the extremely tall Fijian. "Yes, I need to cancel my seat back to Chicago later today and instead fly to Sydney and return here and then pick up my paid-for Fiji-Chicago leg. And I want that done without being heavily financially penalized because that's not fair, simply not fair, and Thomo says these are the Friendly Islands so I cannot believe my wishes cannot be met."

"Thomo – you mean Thomo out at Oasis Resort?"

"Is there another Thomo in Fiji?"

The supervisor grinned – only half the guys who take the English name Thomas, but there's only one Thomo at Oasis – he's my younger brother."

"That's very interesting and he's a very nice man. I went fishing at dawn with him and Max and..."

"You know Max as well?"

"Yes and Anna, and your mother and grandmother and Thomo's mother. But I can't see how this is any help to me."

"You're practically family – change the bookings Lily, no penalty – here is my authorization code for this transaction. Try to get Mrs Kennedy on that flight to Sydney due in two hours and then call someone to take her to the VIP lounge."

"Yes Johno."

"I guess you know Max flies to Sydney early next week for a surgeon to fix up those so-called knife wounds on his face."

"Yes, Gus gave me the flight times and Sydney hotel details when I few in twenty minutes ago."

"You know Gus?"

"Yes, he's wearing my lipstick. The old boy's quite a charmer isn't her?"

"Is there anybody of note you don't know in Fiji, Mrs Kennedy."

"The name is Amelia, Johno. And what do you mean by 'so-called knife wounds'?"

"Everyone knows Max goofed up and was tossed on to a reef. He's such a great guy that we all pretend we believe the knifing brawl yarn."

When she stopped laughing Amelia asked Johno if he could phone Thomo for her.

"There's no phone connection – it's too remote. I'll call by radio and connect you to the desk in the VIP lounge. They listen in for radio calls on the hour. Oasis refuses to install micro-wave or satellite communications because the whole idea of being remote is not having easy communication."

"Hello Amelia, I hope there's no problem?"

"No, not at all, Thomo. I've found paradise and want it back. I'd like to apply for that post of assistant guest liaison manager I saw posted on the notice board."

"Why?"

"To remain near to Max, I wish to romance him into something permanent."




Paradise on a Deckchair



"Right, I'll ensure you get the job. It is supposed to go to an indigenous person but most of the women – it's a job for a woman – don't like the isolation and the fact that the nearest church is three hours' boat ride away. I have connections that will take care of temporary immigration matters. When do you wish to start?"

"The first of next month. That will allow me to tie up my financial affairs at home. This is confidential what I am about to tell you, right?"

"Right."

"I'm off to Sydney in an hour to wait for Max. A confidential source has given me the name of the hotel and dates of Max's stay. I want him, Thomo."

Thomo laughed. Despite the difficulty of the more restricted way of talking on radio, they were doing fine. He told Amelia that Max had given him the details of his Sydney stay to give to Gus who made the late flight in with German guests late yesterday. "We were both sworn to reveal no further details. Max said to me if the little darling wants me; she'll know what to do. Gus said that was too much of a risk to take so he'd try to give you a prompt without breaking confidentiality. What did he say to you?"

Amelia laughed. "All he said was this: 'Remember my lovely, it's not always there for the taking; sometimes one has to work for it'.

"And you changed your flight to Sydney on the strength of that?"

"Yes – well that word 'Darling' rather popped out during our emotional goodbye. A smart girl needs no more than two prompts. Thanks Thomo – you are your brother Johno are great guys. I'm going to love coming back here. None of my friends in America are going to believe I have befriended two 7-foot Fijians."

Ninety minutes later about the aircraft Amelia was drinking sparkling wine wondering what selection of wine would she like at her wedding. She'd fixed the main impediment to marriage with Max – with her working from dawn to dusk on five days of the week and including every other weekend, Max could write away all day without interruption which was his only concern; it was fortunate for her that males were so uncomplicated.

Perfect.

THE END