The Tailor's Razor

1. Junket

Quarter-Past Seven in the evening, Saturday, May
That beach on Magens Bay, St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands

Taylor relaxed on the beach, snoozing in one of the banana chairs left behind by the tourists who had gone up into the hills on sunset. The ridges of the bay were steeply jungled, bungalows shining darkly in the night.

His dog, letting off a short bark, woke him.

"What're you doing, Mahdo?" he slurred, patting the head of the big, black Labrador, "How long have I been sleeping, boy?"

The vast bay was dark as wine. Ducking behind a peninsula, the sun cast the horizon in shades of orange and red till, in the territory of stars further above, deepest violet faded into the black of night. Taylor followed the false curve of the sky till his neck was craned toward the palm leaves overhead, rustling in the breeze.

Mahdo barked again, whining at something in the water. Among the moon's silver flickers something slipped through the waves, closer and closer to the beach.

"Shark or dolphin?" Taylor rubbed the dog's mane, reaching for his phone.

Clicking his tongue he turned on the camera, framing a holiday-snap with his hairy thighs. It was much too dark to tell whose limbs they were and the subtle shifts of the sky's light were lost on the little camera. No matter which filter he applied the beauty was lost, and he cursed the app store as he watched the colours darken, bleed into each other, and fade over the sea.

From the water a figure was emerging, breathing heavily. Her silhouette was cast in the moonlight; a delicate hourglass that strained to the left and right as she held her arms up, wringing out her hair.

Mahdo barked and went lolloping over the sand to her.

"Oh my God!" she shouted in a gentle, American accent.

"Don't worry about him," called Taylor from the darkness, "He'll lick you to death before he'd ever think to bite."

She was startled, and even in the gloom he could tell she was tense with anticipation. Taylor decided what the girl needed was reassurance so, leisurely swinging his legs, he climbed out of the banana chair. Strolling down to the waterside he told her not to worry.

Up close, in the last blue light wrapped round the Earth, he could see the domino-coloured one-piece she wore. It looked like a racing costume, save for the hole that brazenly showed off her belly-button, pulled taut over her toned abs.

"You training?" he asked, squatting beside the dog to rub his back.

"Yeah," she gasped, still getting her breath back, "I came out from the Point when I saw how calm the sea was."

"You're not worried about sharks?"

"A quick one-two and every whitetip in the bay will be running scared!"

Taylor roared in laughter as the girl ducked and weaved, jabbing her left fist at an imaginary shark before following through with a right-handed haymaker. Mahdo was rolling in the sand; the white water that he loved was breaking over their ankles, "Lord..." Taylor regathered himself, "You're something else."

"Never met a shark-boxer before?" she laughed, flicking the long hair from her eyes.

"Never been introduced to one."

"S'pose not a lot like to advertise it," she smiled with the side of her mouth, flashing perfect, American teeth, "I'm Madison."

"Will," Taylor shook her hand, squeezing her palm between his fingers and thumb, a little more gently than if she'd been a man.