Diane just needs somebody to lean on.

You jog more quickly up the little rise. As you approach the top, you hear thrashing noises and see motion in the tropical shrubbery to one side of the trail. On the trail is a broken sandal.

"Ow!" you hear a woman's voice cry out. "Ouch!"

You step up and see flailing legs and arms in the bushes to the side of the crest of the trail. It looks like she has fallen into a tangle of vines in a down-slope and is having trouble getting a grip.

"Are you all right?" you ask. "Can I help?"

"Yes, please," she says.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" you ask.

"Not much, just my toe I think," she says. Something in her voice sounds familiar.

You crouch by the side of the trail, trying not to fall down the incline yourself, and grasp her by the ankles. They're smooth, lightly sun-bronzed, and she still has one designer sandal on. Indeed, the big toe on her bare foot is swollen.

"OK, here goes," you say. You start pulling her slowly up the slope. Her hands scrabble for balance. As she emerges from the bushes feet-first, you see the rest of her legs, long and smooth, with a light even tan. Some definition on the muscles, and a little callus on the heel. A walker, maybe a runner like you. With her orange-pink sundress caught on the bushes, her breeze-light cotton gauze panties leave little to the imagination. You're not sure from this angle, but you think she's a brunette.

"Ooh!" she says, as you extract her from the bushes. "Ouch, watch the toe!" Her arms walk her upper body out of the tangle of vines. Once she's half onto the trail, she says, "All right, I can do it." You set her legs down. "Ow!" she says again as her toe touches the ground. She pulls herself out and up to a sitting position, then bends down to pull on a strap sticking out of the vines and recover her purse, a small suede handbag. She's a natural brunette, with grey eyes in a long, elegant face tilted up toward yours. She has more up front than you'd guessed, and her disarranged dress shows quite a bit of it. Who does she look like? Was it an actress...

She coughs. You've been staring. "Thank you," she says. "Would you help me up?"

"Oh," you say. "Sorry, um, M..."

"You can call me Diane," she says. Her voice is pleasant and steady, unruffled by her fall, her sore toe, and her undignified extraction. She holds out her hand, and you take it and lift her up. Standing, she's taller than you thought, probably taller than Dunstan. Her sundress is rust-pink, with a print of Hawaiian petroglyphs, stick-figure people. She straightens her dress and dusts herself off. "Thank you," she says. "And you?"

"John," you say. "I just arrived today. It's more beautiful than I expected."

She laughs. "This is just a dumpy little strip of undeveloped land between the golf course and the resort," she says. "If you want to see the real beauty of Hawaii, you'll have to look further than that." She retrieves her sandal and tries to slide her bare foot into it. "OW!" she says. "Guess that's not happening."

"Does it hurt a lot?" you ask.

"It just throbs, unless I put pressure on it," she says. She shifts her weight experimentally and takes a couple of careful steps. "I can walk." She walks in a little circle, with just a tiny limp. Her dark chestnut hair flows in waves round her head, following the breeze. It seems to be an expensive cut-and-style trying hard to look natural.

"We should really ice it and put it up," you say. "Are you staying at the resort?"

An exotic bird trills. It seems to come from right next to you. It calls again, louder. You can't see anything, though it seems to be right beside you. A third time, louder still.

Diane fishes in her purse. "Still not used to that ring," she says. She takes out a mobile phone which starts to trill, and answers it. "Hello." she says. "Yes?" She pauses, her eyes looking up and left. Long eyelashes, probably real. "Really," she says. She sighs. "I just fell down and hurt my toe, and..." She frowns. "Half an hour? I don't think I can... By when? Does it really have..." She purses her lips. "Really." She coughs. "Then you have to go. And tonight, when...?" She shuts her eyes. "When?" She bites her lip. "But it's..." She brings her other arm up and rubs the back of her neck. "All right then. No. I don't... I'll be all right. Don't worry. All right. Okay. Goodbye," she says.

You've been waiting, rather closer than you would ordinarily wait for someone talking on their mobile, in case Diane should put too much weight on her toe. She has a beautiful profile, with a long, graceful neck supporting it. Who does she look like?

You notice she's looking at you again, and the phone is tucked away.

"Is everything OK?" you ask. "Do we need to get you back right away?"

"Fine," she says. "No hurry. Maybe you could walk me back to the pool terrace and help me get an ice pack."

"I'd be glad to," you say. "This way back to the pool goes right by my cabana," you say, "I could get you fixed up with an ice pack there."

"Thank you very much, John," Diane says. "I think the trail starts out a little steep, so if you could help me..." She holds out her hand.

"Oh! Of course," you say. Her grip is firm, and her skin is soft.

You start off down the trail, Diane favoring her sore toe. Her hair smells of sunshine, and faintly of flowers.