Chapter Seven
Clifton is buzzing with activity, making it almost impossible to find a parking spot. After doing a three hundred-point manoeuvre—Allegra doesn’t seem to be able to parallel park, and I’m not about to try it in someone else’s car—we manage to get into a gap on the sidewalk. We grab our bags, run across roads, climb down narrow staircases, and eventually the beach comes into sight.
Bronzed bodies in tiny bikinis line the sugar-white sand, guys with rippling abs and gleaming skin toss a volleyball over a net, and several small yachts bob in the gentle waves close to shore.
“Wow.” I pause at the foot of the staircase. “So this is where all the beautiful people hang out, huh?”
“Totally,” Allegra says, flicking her hair back and sauntering onto the powdery sand.
“I’m not sure
