Stuart, who had to keep an appointment in town, had driven her to “Komana” just after noon, and left her there, promising to telephone if he were likely to be back later than four o’clock. Mrs. Conlowe was at the hairdressers, but due home for lunch, so Lindsey took a magazine into the sun lounge and made herself comfortable in one of the divans. But the journal remained unopened on her lap.The sun lounge was raised higher than the rest of the veranda in order to command, not only a sweep of the Esplanade, but a stretch of ivory sand washed by rollers and the mighty reef of rocks far to the right, where Port Acland ended and Paynters Ridge began to thrust its jagged headlands into the incredible blue of the Indian Ocean.Sunlight glittered over the heaving waters, glared white on the low ornamental beach wall on the other side of the road. Some children played on the sand with their dark, buxom nannies, but few people promenaded, for this was not quite the holiday season. Lindsey could not read while so much loveliness lay within her field of vision.Presently the door thudded softly behind her.“Oh, I beg your pardon.”Lindsey turned her head.
