he was making a difference and that's what counted. He remembered the numerous wars and famines he'd captured on camera, and decided the bed was too soft.
The morning brought with it another dose of guilt - why was he trapped on an island for the rich and pretentious when he could just as easily be taking snaps of Rohingya refugees? And just look at that stick-thin blonde over there picking at her croissant, ready to throw the contents in the bin. He shook his head in disgust, wolfed down his cereal and coffee and headed out to the beach.
The sunshine and holiday vibe had rubbed off on him a little, but the first beach had been crowded and full of wannabes. There was a small group of paparazzi taking pictures of a D-list celebrity, and near him two excited women chatted about a reality TV star and her sisters who'd visited that beach recently. The overheard conversation had made him decide to get directions to the smaller, quieter beach, and once he’d reached The Rocks, he'd suddenly felt happy. The warm sunshine, the balmy breeze and the crash of waves - no wonder people picked St Martin's as a holiday destination.
Adam carried his camera everywhere, and though there was nothing particularly exciting about The Rocks, he was soon snapping photos of the surf, the kids playing in the sand, and the surfers who kept getting knocked off their boards.
And then he saw her in the distance - a slender, dark-haired woman playing with her dog. Both of them were so happy and carefree, radiating the kind of true love that only exists between a dog and its owner.
So he'd done the natural thing - he'd stood up, zoomed in with his lens and snapped away. As he took one photo after another, he thought hazily that she was quite pretty , and the whole scene was just perfect.
Her face shone with intelligence and joy, and she would probably be a fun person to know. Too bad she was wearing a sundress and not a bikini, he thought distractedly, wondering how she'd look in one. But then she looked at him and stood up angrily. Uh-oh.
As she strode towards him, he put the camera down. Some people didn't like taken their picture taken, maybe she was one of them?
She was even prettier up close. There were golden specks in her amber eyes, and her hair fell down in long, dark waves. Her button nose had the beginning s of a few freckles and she smelled like jasmine.
And then she'd asked for his camera.
It had taken a surprising amount of willpower not to ask her if she was nuts. When she repeated her request he asked politely, "Why?"
Her angry frown and flashing eyes made her look cuter, he decided. She would probably be fun to annoy, but on the other hand, she did seem like one of those crazy women who might just grab his camera and smash it.
"I saw you taking my photos," she said pointedly, "And I'd appreciate it if you'd delete them."
Normally, he'd just apologize and delete them. But he had a strange urge to spend more time with Angry Girl and he decided to stall before asking her out for a coffee.
"There's nothing wrong with taking photos of a beach."
She rolled her eyes dismissively. "If you think you're selling my photos to some tabloid, think again. I will have my lawyers sue you for damages."
Now this was amusing. "Why would I sell your photos to a tabloid?"
She raised an eyebrow and folded her arms, as if the answer was self-evident.
"Look, it's not like you're a celebrity…" Or was she? He'd been out of touch with pop culture for so long, he had no idea if she was the next Madonna or something. Or maybe just another reality TV star? Either way, she seemed pretty determined about those photos. And if she was some kind of celebrity, he didn't want to waste time having coffee with her.
"Fine, I'll delete them."
He stepped around so that she could see the LCD viewer on his camera, and he started deleting all the photos of her, one by one. It was a shame, too - they were incredibly nice photos.
She leaned over slightly to check
The morning brought with it another dose of guilt - why was he trapped on an island for the rich and pretentious when he could just as easily be taking snaps of Rohingya refugees? And just look at that stick-thin blonde over there picking at her croissant, ready to throw the contents in the bin. He shook his head in disgust, wolfed down his cereal and coffee and headed out to the beach.
The sunshine and holiday vibe had rubbed off on him a little, but the first beach had been crowded and full of wannabes. There was a small group of paparazzi taking pictures of a D-list celebrity, and near him two excited women chatted about a reality TV star and her sisters who'd visited that beach recently. The overheard conversation had made him decide to get directions to the smaller, quieter beach, and once he’d reached The Rocks, he'd suddenly felt happy. The warm sunshine, the balmy breeze and the crash of waves - no wonder people picked St Martin's as a holiday destination.
Adam carried his camera everywhere, and though there was nothing particularly exciting about The Rocks, he was soon snapping photos of the surf, the kids playing in the sand, and the surfers who kept getting knocked off their boards.
And then he saw her in the distance - a slender, dark-haired woman playing with her dog. Both of them were so happy and carefree, radiating the kind of true love that only exists between a dog and its owner.
So he'd done the natural thing - he'd stood up, zoomed in with his lens and snapped away. As he took one photo after another, he thought hazily that she was quite pretty , and the whole scene was just perfect.
Her face shone with intelligence and joy, and she would probably be a fun person to know. Too bad she was wearing a sundress and not a bikini, he thought distractedly, wondering how she'd look in one. But then she looked at him and stood up angrily. Uh-oh.
As she strode towards him, he put the camera down. Some people didn't like taken their picture taken, maybe she was one of them?
She was even prettier up close. There were golden specks in her amber eyes, and her hair fell down in long, dark waves. Her button nose had the beginning s of a few freckles and she smelled like jasmine.
And then she'd asked for his camera.
It had taken a surprising amount of willpower not to ask her if she was nuts. When she repeated her request he asked politely, "Why?"
Her angry frown and flashing eyes made her look cuter, he decided. She would probably be fun to annoy, but on the other hand, she did seem like one of those crazy women who might just grab his camera and smash it.
"I saw you taking my photos," she said pointedly, "And I'd appreciate it if you'd delete them."
Normally, he'd just apologize and delete them. But he had a strange urge to spend more time with Angry Girl and he decided to stall before asking her out for a coffee.
"There's nothing wrong with taking photos of a beach."
She rolled her eyes dismissively. "If you think you're selling my photos to some tabloid, think again. I will have my lawyers sue you for damages."
Now this was amusing. "Why would I sell your photos to a tabloid?"
She raised an eyebrow and folded her arms, as if the answer was self-evident.
"Look, it's not like you're a celebrity…" Or was she? He'd been out of touch with pop culture for so long, he had no idea if she was the next Madonna or something. Or maybe just another reality TV star? Either way, she seemed pretty determined about those photos. And if she was some kind of celebrity, he didn't want to waste time having coffee with her.
"Fine, I'll delete them."
He stepped around so that she could see the LCD viewer on his camera, and he started deleting all the photos of her, one by one. It was a shame, too - they were incredibly nice photos.
She leaned over slightly to check
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