‘It’s probably a fisherman returning with the early morning catch.’
Hugh considered the scene for a few more moments. ‘Or maybe another illegal immigrant sneaking ashore,’ he added, with a snigger.
Bekka hadn’t noticed the boat with the flaking green paint. Nor its occupant. Something, or rather someone else had caught her eye as she gazed out of the restaurant window. She sprinkled a little more ginger on her melon.
She’d seen him last night as they’d walked arm in arm along the seafront after a late dinner. One of the bracelets was pretty and she’d been tempted to look. But Hugh had resolutely kept walking on to the hotel, knowing better than to make eye contact with these people.
‘Ah, it’s alright – he’s unloading fish. Sea bass and barracuda I imagine.’ He dipped his croissant into his Americano. ‘Maybe we’ll go for fish tonight, what do you think? Le Pecheur looked promising.’
‘You choose. You always seem to find something lovely.’
She sipped her peach Bellini and continued to watch the swarthy man with the gleaming teeth, as he zig-zagged between the scattering of breakfast time sun-bathers …
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