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Lunch back on the main island of Onetahi was a relaxed picnic of grilled tuna and chicken, fresh pineapple, salad, and wine in three colors. When I had returned for seconds at lunch (sampling all three hues of wine — white, red, and pink — had become my immediate challenge), the woman supervising the picnic maneuvered me aside from the rest of the group. "Do you have any reason to go back tonight?" she asked mysteriously.

I thought a minute, uncertain what such a question could mean, and said at last, "No. Why?"

"We would like to offer you a bungalow for the night. And meals, too — no extra charge, of course." I said I would have to check, but would let her know soon. Eventually we put together the truth, that there were too many one-day trippers on the island for the single-engine plane to take back to Tahiti. The honeymooned couple had to leave their paradise, and we had been bumped.

So our choice? We could force our way onto the small plane, demand another couple stay, and return to our less-than-luxurious accommodations in Papeete, a place we referred to as the Royal Tahitian Motor Court. Or we could stay - possibly in the honeymoon cabin — and accept the machinations of serendipity. We took the plunge off the itinerary, and gave in to the unknown.

The wind picked up the rest of the afternoon, and we were glad not to be on the small plane as it took off into the stiff southerly gale. The dry tropical wind rushed through the palms and pines, rustling their limbs with insistence. The waters of the lagoon were blue in every shade — azure, aquamarine, cobalt and cerulean — reflecting the sky from the coral sands that lie shallow, far out toward the reef. We could see the waves breaking there, perhaps two miles away, and the silhouettes of tall palms on the small islands, or motu, that perch on the reef.

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