Luciana walked along the dusty track until she came to the viewpoint above the beach. She stood on a rocky outcrop and looked down. Far out beyond the reef the ocean was navy blue and great rollers frothed and plumed, white against the sky. Where smaller waves broke along the reef, vivid colours, from emerald and turquoise to orange, flashed a contrast to the patches of black shadow, as if a rainbow had been smashed to pieces on the coral. It made perfect camouflage for the huge, colourful parrotfish, which nosed secretly among the pools. You had to watch for a long time before you could pick them out, but most people didn’t bother to look, programmed only, Luciana considered, to move between the bar and the stretch of beach where the hotel had its private umbrellas and deck chairs.

But I am alone, she thought, and it doesn’t make any difference whether I am here by myself, or surrounded by people. I am always alone now.

Pelicans were diving for their evening meal, the waddling ungainliness of their on-shore deportment transformed to extraordinary speed and grace as they hit the water with the accuracy of guided missiles, angling their hinged wings to steer them exactly to the fish of their choice. Goats bleating in the distance and the occasional crowing of a cock were the only noises to be heard above the hiss of the sea, but memories rang angry bells in Luciana’s head. She gazed down, feeling her hair blowing in the wind. All her life, her beauty had been so much a part of her that she had always taken its effect for granted – and it had certainly always had an effect. It was like having royal blood – it made a difference to the way people treated you. She had never felt the anxiety to please that is the lot of plainer women. Even in her present, strange disguise she did not doubt the echo of her beauty’s potency. The invisibility conferred by old age would have amused her if she could have shared the joke with Carlos, and a spurt of anger at his defection left her feeling weak and breathless so that it seemed as if the sun no longer warmed her but consumed her. She turned away from the sea and started to walk painfully back along the track, each step an effort.

She saw Marnie in the clearing near the pigpen, and this time it was Luciana who observed.

The child was absorbed in some strange ritual, circling round a pile of stones – stamping, dipping and swaying as though taking part in a ceremonial dance. With her was Kenneth, the pig-man. We have something in common, thought Luciana: we are all three outcasts – I, because the only person I care about has abandoned me; Marnie, because the people who should care about her don’t, and Kenneth because he is a freak.