As usual on Saturday afternoons, the veranda of the Myrtle Bank Hotel, Jamaica, was the gathering point for men in white linen suits, whose only talk was of sugar, twenty four hours a day. But Gordon Stone, for once, wasn't thinking of sugar... The girl was too charming, the cool wind blown American beauty of her too irresistible. He was admitting it to himself now. This wasn’t just a passing thing with a summer tourist. He was in love...