The man was youngish, perhaps in his mid-thirties, but his tall frame had already slumped into the softness of a prosperous middle age. He wore a heavy gold watch, Bermuda shorts and a polo shirt with an open collar - the kind of gear affluent American men wear to signal that they're outward-bound. In his earnest shorts, pulled-up socks and pristine trainers, he looked like a fat rich kid keen to join the cool kids' party. The woman was long-haired, bejewelled and tiny, with a bird's face. She looked to be in her twenties and carried a small crocodile-skin handbag. Her stick-insect figure somehow supported a pair of disproportionately large breasts in a white sleeveless top with a high polo neck. She looked like Barbie.