It’s just after sunset in early January and, believe me, on the west coast at this time of year the water’s as calm as a hotel bath. There we are, picnickin’ down on the beach at Kata. We’ve been here since four o’clock, stayin’ indoors up till then to avoid the afternoon roasting session – and we’re listening to another one of Jack’s schoolboy jokes when, just like that, our ears prick up to the sound of twin motors. Then, about 10 feet above the water, a set of red and green lights round the cape and settle onto the bay. This is sensational. No one has ever, ever, seen a flying boat down here before. That’s a fact.

As soon as the wake from the plane’s floats calm down, a man dressed in a khaki shirt and shorts clambers out of the cockpit, edges along the starboard float and throws an anchor into the water. Then he throws another one in for good measure. He reaches into the cockpit, cracks open a beer, takes a long pull and eases himself into the water up to his tanned thighs. Nobody says a darned word. It’s too good to ruin. Even Willy, whose idea of a wild time is staying in afternoons watching Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland re-runs, is fascinated. Now a dog plops into the sea and swims alongside the man, bounding out of the water and following the figure up towards our little group.

"Evenin’," he says, brushing the sand off his feet and putting on the deck shoes he’d strung round his neck. "Hope I’m not disturbing you folk. Fine-looking picnic you’ve got there. Oh, this here’s Shaker."

So the dog introduces itself by way of unloading a mix of sand, salt water and fur onto our fried rice and barbecued chicken, and all of a sudden we realize why it got its darn name in the first place.

Well, despite this, next thing we’re all eating and drinking together like we’re the best of friends. Jimmy, in the course of the conversation, turns out to be a movie something or other and has flown down from Pattaya in search – he says – for "real talent to act in a scene on Phuket." So next thing you know all the boys are puffin’ out their chests and us girls are preening away like prize hens at a county fair. Then we all go off into town to celebrate with a couple of jugs of margaritas and Jack has too much to drink. At his age, too. All the same, it was a pretty good evening and Jimmy picks up the tab. Now that leaves a good impression, so I ask him if there’s anything I can do for him and give him my number before getting a tuk-tuk for poor old Jack.

And that, in my book, would have been that.

See, living down here, we see our fair share of new faces. I call them the "Pleased-to-meet-you-see-you-next-year brigade", but Melanie, my friend, claims I’m being rude. So to say I was surprised when Jimmy called me the next week would be putting it mildly.

"I just thought we could meet up somewhere and discuss my project." He purrs down the phone, slicker than melted butter on aluminum foil.

Now, a girl of my age has no illusions: I know when a man’s after something.

"Yeah? Your place or mine?" I answer, and he laughs long and loud like it’s the funniest darned thing he’s heard in his life.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, he takes me up the coast to Kalim. We’re sitting there, all nice and tranquil in some fancy restaurant then he squints at me and shifts in his seat sort of uncomfortable like, and says:

"Martha, how’d ya like to be in a movie?"

Now, I feature heavily in several home videos back in Arkansas but, to be honest, I’m usually the one in the background holding the grandkids or cooking the dinner while the young folks have drinks and snacks in the front room or on the patio. You could say I’m a natural. So I nod and smile – just to see the reaction – and next thing he’s ordered a bottle of champagne and has a grin the size of King Kong’s on his chops. It’s downright embarrassing.

Now I don’t lose sleep over much so I sure didn’t that night. It’s only when he phones the next day, spouting on about "shootin’ the scene we talked about in depth yesterday." I get to thinking that maybe I’m in deeper water than I realized. I mean, I wasn’t really listening that much at the time. …

He picks me up the next day and we’re driving north again out of Kata up the coast so I take a deep breath and ask what in heaven’s name we’re doing.

"Trust me," he grins, flashin’ 10,000 bucks worth of dental hygiene. (Don’t even ask me about it; I was in that line of work getting on for 20-odd years.) Fifteen minutes later we’re at some sort of jungle house by a waterfall.

So here I am, surrounded by cameras, wires, mirrors, bodybuilders and whatnot, and there’s Jimmy in the middle like some sort of a Roman senator, directing everyone around. All of a sudden he shushes everyone and turns to me. "Martha, darlin’, I want you to walk out of that door, face that there camera and say: "No! She won’t see you now, tomorrow or ever again. Now, get out of here!’"

That’s not a difficult line for me. I must have said that at least 50 times to that pimply guitar-playing wastrel from Tallahassee before my Gabrielle up and married him, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Rory, God rest his soul, always said I did that. So I say it and everyone gets all emotional and they say stuff like: "You’re a star, girl!" and "Hollywood’s just aching for talent like yours!" And, just as quick, they all start ignoring me and packing all that fancy equipment away in a hired truck.

As you can imagine, I’m a little out of my depth with people like these. I need a cup of coffee but just then Jimmy sidles up and says, "The check’s gettin’ made out, Martha. Where d’ya want it sent to?"

"Check?" I say. "Check? I don’t want no check."

"Well whaddya want?" he shouts, getting as excited as a bag of cats. "That was the first one-off take in the history of Panther Films! For God’s sake, you saved our butts today. Now we can relocate and save ourselves thousands. Now tell me: What can I do for you?"

"What I would like," I say, wiping off that ridiculous face paint they plaster on you, "is a little ride in that-there flyin’ doohickey of yours over this island. Not only that, but I want my friends – Willy, Jack, Melanie and maybe Mary, if she apologizes for the stain on my tablecloth – to come along and see just what sort of place we live in, or on."

Well – his eyes sort of explode with happiness and he collapses in giggles, hugs me real tight and says, in a basso-profundo voice like Victor Mature in The Robe: "Your Wish Is My Command, Signora."

And it’s almost embarrassing.

So that’s how we got to see the island from a bird’s-eye view. I hadn’t yet realized just how green the place is and I never, in a donkey’s age, would have thought that Patong was so close to Phuket Town. It’s just over the hill! And I never knew Phang Nga was so pretty and that the darn mountains are the backbone of the island, and that there are so many fishing boats out there and that the sea can be so turquoise, and that some hotels are the darnedest eyesores and that some are just plain lovely, and that I happen to live in one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever, ever seen. At least from a flying boat, that is. Not bad for a morning’s work, I’d say.

And Mary and I are back on speaking terms, too. She tells me the stain’ll come right out with a bit of lemon and water.