Bettina Ortiz y Meña was not accustomed to waiting. A former Miss Venezuela and Miss Universe runner-up, 
She wanted to sit on one of the comfy orange canvas director’s chairs and stare out at the gently lapping turquoise waters while eating her Kale Caesar salad.
She felt like walking up to their table and handing out her dermatologist’s business cards. And the men were even worse. All dressed in all rumpled shirts and shorts,
The three-and-a-half-mile-long paradise with its pristine pink-Sandbeaches was one of the best-kept secrets in the Caribbean,
Julie, honey, what’s the dealio? I’ve waited more than fifteen minutes for my table!
But the terrace is your prime spot! Why on earth did you let those tourists take up all that space?
Sorry, Bettina, it’s been one of those days. The party of twelve on the terrace showed up first just before you did,
Bettina huffed, although secretly#160;She was rather impressed by people with a big title. From the kitchen window, she surveyed the party assembled on the terrace with new eyes. These aristo British types were such a strange breed. Sure, they had their Savile Row suits and their heirloom tiaras, but when they traveled, they looked so painfully frumpy.
I’m not impressed by big boats,
Well, that tourist in the red fishing cap is the Duke of Glencora. His party just boated over from Windermere – that’s his Royal Huisman you see moored#160;off the coast. Isn’t it the most handsome sailboat you’ve ever seen?