We tell her we will consider it and then narrowly bid our adieus just before our cover crumbles under her exacting gaze.
But escape we don't. Not yet anyway. As we wander over to the sea cliff to gaze at the ocean one last time from the perch of Goldeneye, we see below us a stone path cut into the rock face, leading down to a secluded pristine beach and private boat dock. I turn to look at Dion.
Again, that devilish smile. In a moment he's back with the camera, some lunch we'd packed in the car and the last of the Red Stripe. We shoot about for a last, quick look for the intrepid Magdalena, then drop down out of sight,
100 feet to the beach below. Well, we could have dropped down. As it is, we use the stairs . . .
