Chapter 16
THE JUNE SUN, striking diamonds out of the sparkling waters of the Sound, was filtered a cool green through the striped awnings of the terrace. A lawn sloped to the water’s edge where a little wooden pier projected, dividing the bathing-beach, with its bobbing raft and gay cabañas, from the mooring-grounds where some yachts and a cluster of power-boats rode serenely at their buoys. Behind was the little clubhouse, spick-and-span in its white paint, with French windows folded back upon a verandah, and sleeping-porches above.
To Trevor Dene, seated over a late lunch on the terrace, the peace of the place was as a draught of water to a thirsty man. There were drowsy reverberations on the air— the sputter of a motor cruiser crossing the Sound, the clear-cut staccato of hammering o
