By Mark Mills
While a first-generation Basque fisherman pulls within the physique of an attractive younger girl, his close-knit new york group might be irrevocably replaced. As sweeping and haunting as its backdrop, Amagansett is an unforgettable evocation of life's epic forces.
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Extra info for Amagansett
The former school was now home to the East Hampton Historical Society, which, for a nominal sum, subleased the annex to the women. Hollis paused before entering the old brick-and-wood building. From the apex of its gambrel roof rose a tall, pointed cupola, the bell it once housed for summoning the students long gone. The odor from an unruly clump of honeysuckle was almost unbearably sweet in the searing afternoon heat. Hollis wiped his brow before stepping into the shaded sanctuary of the covered porch.
Death had not completely obscured her beauty. Blonde tresses matted with weed framed an oval face that descended to the delicate point of her chin. Her lips, though blue, were arched and full. Faint smile lines flanked her mouth. Her nose was sharp, her eyes wide-set and closed. He resisted the temptation to force open the lids. Green, he guessed. He’d find out soon enough. There was a small scar etched into her left eyebrow, and pierce-marks in her ears. A beautiful young woman, her life cut short after no more than, what, twentyfive years?
No,’ she choked. It was Thursday. Still in the city, probably. Wouldn’t be up till the weekend. ’ Four For the third time that day Manfred Wallace inhaled the heady scent of victory. He leaned forward over the backgammon board and stared at the dice. Six and five. The gamble had paid off. ’ Peter Carlson arched his long neck. Sure enough, Wheaton Blake, Chairman of the club’s Card and Backgammon Committee, was seated near the bar, observing them from behind a glass of chilled white port. Peter gave a coy smile and received a guarded nod of the head in return from the Chairman: Apology accepted.
Amagansett by Mark Mills