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thought he might be the one who propositioned her, naked, in the corridor but she could not be sure. In strange surroundings she could never identify faces and already the lift boy, the beach boy and the porter looked indistinguishable. He talked idly to another man but mainly he looked towards the beach. He looked at her and her heart machined as she saw his companion come down the steps and walk towards her. He was a fat man and he walked over daintily, treating the ground as a tightrope.
    ‘Mademoiselle?’ he said as he stood over her. She pretended to be puzzled. Then a sharp whistle from the balcony alerted them both and the golden sultan up above indicated to the fat man that he had made a mistake. Excusing himself, the fat man crossed over the bridge of mattresses to where the young girl lay.
    ‘Mademoiselle’ he said. She must have been dozing because he had to say it twice and then she sat up somewhat startled.
    ‘I hope you will forgive my intrusion but my friend would like to invite you to a party.’
    ‘Your friend ‘she said coldly. He pointed to the balcony and her eyes followed his finger. The man up above did not look at her for confirmation, but stared out to sea in the direction of a white fortress that was across the water. His castle.
    ‘This evening, we are having a beach party,’ the man said, over-humbly.
    ‘I have another engagement,’ the girl said. Ellen wished she could give answers like that instead of rushing to assignations with open arms.
    ‘Je suis désolé,’ the man said, and in English the girl asked why he had come.
    ‘We are having a party on the beach, our biggest party,’ he said.
    ‘What time?’
    ‘At nine, but we could have it later if you wish that.’
    She said nothing for a minute and in the interval he took the opportunity to kneel on the sand. What tactics.
    ‘You have another appointment?’ he said again. She thought about it and said very realistically, ‘I am going to the beauty parlour at eight.’ Her hair was obscured by a green kerchief and she wore dark glasses that had rhinestones on their horn frames. There was no telling what effect the invitation had on her.
    ‘Perhaps you could come after,’ he said. She looked again at the man who was to be her escort and then she said that she would try to change her hair appointment. The fat man gave a slight nod towards the balcony and the sultan walked away, over-slowly. He walked well. He and the girl would make a perfect couple. Ellen felt the humiliation one feels in the presence of perfectly formed people and she had a moment’s apprehension about having come at all. A child was laughing and saying ‘Encore, encore,’ and she thought of her son.
    ‘You are Swedish?’ the man said, relaxing now with the girl and asking what she did for a living. She translated textbooks, which was why she spoke English, and then he asked how long she had been there.
    ‘Three weeks,’ she said.
    ‘A beautiful girl like you and I haven’t seen you before now.’ His tone was flirtatious, but the girl retained her distance.
    ‘Perhaps you have been on another beach?’
    ‘No, this beach.’ She was quite brisk. The sun, the opponent of dreams, had no place for subtlety, deceit, and the countless little looks that denote a passing attraction. A cauldron of honesty. Only the perfection people triumphed. The fat, the lame, the slobs, even the slightly blemished like Ellen would find it hard to pass as eligible. Unless of course she settled for the people in her own category. But who is willing to?
    ‘I must be blind,’ he said. The girl picked up her beach bag and rose to leave. She would see him later. He kissed her hand in an elaborate and theatrical way. Then he watched her walk away and when she had gone out of sight he caught Ellen’s eye. He did not smile.
    Soon there were only two people left, herself and the Lesbian. She was certain now that the woman in black was a Lesbian because of the way she kept