The photo essay below captures a typical moment at this and other tropical shoreline destinations.
Star Clipper vacation photos, 2019
Clio glanced up from her paperback copy of Jamaica Inn. Her mind swirled with images of a rocky coastline, crashing waves and lonely moorlands. She blinked and Daphne du Maurier’s Gothic setting melted away.
“Clio Penrose, is that you?”
Closing her book, Clio straightened in her cushioned rattan chair and looked around the sun-drenched beach bar. A tall, dark-haired woman wearing an aquamarine sarong and jeweled flip-flops edged by a group of tanned girls who were draped languidly in a semi-circle of pastel-colored beach chairs watching the world go by from behind their oversized designer sunglasses.
“Clio Penrose,” the approaching woman repeated with a familiar smile. “It’s Lila Bellamy from Connecticut.”
“Oh my gosh, Lila! I can’t believe it.” Clio gestured toward the seat across from her. “Sit down . . . join me.”
Lila set the brimming plastic cup she had carried from the bar on the table beside Clio’s paperback and settled into her seat. “Wow! It’s so good to see you. Sophie will never believe I ran into you.”
Once upon a time, Clio and Lila’s younger sister, Sophie, had been inseparable holiday friends. From age seven to fourteen, Clio had spent her summer on the Connecticut shoreline. Each year, her parents rented the same seasonal cottage right next door to the Bellamy family.
“How is Sophie?” Clio asked. “Is she here with you?”
Lila shook her head. “I’m here with my husband and our son, Kyle. They’re out kayaking,” she explained, waving a hand toward the turquoise water where children splashed in the gentle waves and farther out sailboats dotted the horizon. “What about you? You’re not here by yourself, are you?”
“I’m staying at the Sand Castle Hotel with two college friends. They took the ferry over to Anegada this morning.”
The two women shared a companionable smile and after a moment, Lila said, “Do you remember Jack Bishop, who lived at the end of our street in the house with the apple orchard?”
“Sure. Sophie and I loved buying those apple pies for one from his family’s farm stand.” Memories of riding bikes down a sun-dappled country road with her long ago friend filled Clio’s heart with nostalgia.
“He’s my husband,” Lila said with a grin. “I bake those pies now. I’ve become the keeper of the secret family recipe.”
“Awesome. How cool is that?” Pushing her chair back, Clio looked over at the bar. “Remembering those pies makes me hungry. I’m going to order some conch fritters. Can I get you anything?”
“That’s so sweet, but I’m good,” Lila said. “Jack, Kyle and I are going to have lunch back at our hotel.”
“I’ll be right back.” Clio crossed the soft, white sand and caught the bartender’s attention. While he put in her order for the fritters and then made her a rum drink called the Painkiller, she watched a couple of sun-burned tourists trying to master the ring game.
She held her breath as the metal ring tossed by the guy clinked against the hook he was aiming for but then fell away, swinging back on its dangling cord.
“So close!” his blonde partner squealed. “This game is impossible!”
Clio tended to agree with her. “Does anyone ever win the ring game?” she asked the bartender.
He shrugged his shoulders and grinned at Clio as he grated fresh nutmeg over her drink. “If they do, they receive a free drink.”
“Ah,” she said and added, “Thanks,” as he handed her the white plastic cup imprinted with the bar’s logo.
When Clio returned to the table, she found Lila flipping through her book. “I’m a huge Daphne du Maurier fan,” she explained.
“Did you know this is my sister’s favorite book? She’d be impressed that you’re reading it.” Lila put down the book and took a sip of her drink.
“Actually, I think I did know that.” Clio recalled a letter teenage Sophie had written detailing the travails of the heroine, Mary Yellan, and complaining that Hitchcock’s film adaptation didn’t do the novel justice.
“Sophie’s a high school librarian now. She works at an all girls private school outside DC.”
“I’m not surprised. I don’t think I ever met anyone who loves books and reading more than Sophie. What a perfect career for her.”
Lila’s phone pinged and she looked briefly at the display. “Jack and Kyle are back, I’ve got to run.” She held up her phone, “Before I go, will you pose for a quick selfie? I’ll send it to Sophie. She’ll really get a kick out of it.”
“Of course.” Clio scooted her chair closer to Lila’s. She held up the paperback displaying the melodramatic cover and smiled for the camera.
Lila snapped the photo and then handed her phone to Clio. “Type in your cell number so I can send you the pic too.”
One of my favorite shots from the cruise.
A moment after the women bid each other goodbye with a warm hug, a waiter arrived with Clio’s conch fritters. She drew the plate toward her, ready to enjoy her snack, and opened the text message from Lila. She downloaded the selfie, adding it to her camera roll and then scrolled through the vacation pictures she had taken during the past week, but remembering another beach on Long Island Sound and the friend who had meant so much to her.
Connecticut shoreline, 1984
Her phone chirped and she saw that she had received another text. Thinking Lila had followed up on her first message, Clio clicked the link and to her delight, she read:
Clio! It’s me, Sophie. You’re reading Jamaica Inn? What do you think? Isn’t it just so deliciously dark and romantic?
And just as if no time at all had passed, Clio picked up the threads of their friendship and began to type.
Words and Photos by Linda A. LeVasseur 