The scent of frangipani and jasmine became stronger as the blue and yellow fishing boat neared the craggy coastline of Madeira and it was so strong that, as we skimmed into the harbour of Camara de Lobos, I could hardly smell the haul of fish at all. Luis was at the wheel of the Santa Maria, standing tall with his chest pushed out in his striped t-shirt and his captain's cap pushed to the back of his head. All very romantic, I suppose, but nothing would change my mood - I was as angry as hell.

As we docked, Maria, Luis's wife, came rushing towards him, her apron enveloped bosom reminding me of the golden melons drying on the roof opposite. 'Honestly,' I thought, as he wrapped his arms around her robust figure, 'anyone would think he had been away for weeks instead of only hours'

Bow-legged old men appeared from nearby cafes like crabs shaken from their holes and swayed towards the quay. They heaved down the slope to the beach still doing up their plastic aprons and hauling on their rubber boots. Pulling down their pungent wicker baskets, ready to start unloading the fish, they muttered "tão cedo," - so early - at the same time throwing admiring glances at Luis.

"First one in again," yelled one.

"And I cut my record by half an hour," Luis said to me, in a voice like the shingle rattling in the waves, his chest getting puffier by the moment. In no time at all, I bet he'd be strutting.

"Yes," I replied as sarcastically as I could and I think he had the grace to look a little guilty. Not for long though because he busied himself with the unloading and soon there was a swarm of buyers for the first catch of the day and he was in the middle, a giant of a man, bellowing in guttural Portuguese and gesticulating, regardless of the eyes of those around him. Red mullet was flying, black scabbard fish slithered like eels around the ankles of the crowd who were trying to catch his attention, wads of escudo notes waving in their hands. Huge tunas were humped off to local restaurants. Then, as suddenly as it had started, so it finished. The lorries from the canning factory and the frozen food companies revved off, local restaurateurs staggered under laden baskets back to cook lunch, the tourists and local housewives sloped off with their acrid plastic bags, and what was left was taken off in exhaust ridden open trucks to be sold in the market. I could hear the waves breaking again.

I looked around for Luís and saw him standing by his now empty boat, chattering away to his partner, the silent Julio who stood nodding. It was about the only thing Julio did - nod. He had nodded at Luis's chatter as we had left harbour with the fishing fleet during the early hours of that morning; he had nodded as Luis discussed Marítimo's chances in the football league, the local government's foibles, Maria's attractions. The only times I saw a spark of life was first of all when, ten minutes out of the harbour and the Santa Maria had pulled away from the rest of the fleet, he had almost punched the air with victory as we left them behind. And the other time was after he and Luis had gruntingly winched net after net out of the sea, full of gleaming, quivering silver, he had stood with a cigarette in his mouth and stared with what seemed to be a calculating air at the haul, his head on one side. I had seen my chance then and thought that maybe Julio was the one who would see reason first. So there, in the enveloping darkness, the foam in our faces and the plankton sparkling in the waves, I had broached the subject.

"You see? Swifter than any other ship. More fish in those nets than you know what to do with. Julio," I said, putting my arm around his shoulders. "You know, if you want my opinion, you should take on more crew members and, who knows, even build a second ship. Just think of the possibilities"

He had shrugged out from under my arm.

"The profit, Julio," I went on. "The world would be your oyster, excuse the pun."

He didn't even nod - he just turned to haul in more fish.

I had watched the obstinate pair working in rhythm, instinctively knowing what the other was doing. I was fascinated: either the nets that Julio had designed really did have something different about them, or maybe it was just that the pair held an attraction for fish. Whatever, they were pulling in far more than the other fishermen who had by now arrived at the fishing site.

Eventually Luís turned, rubbing his back and groaning. He sank onto a bench, taking a long swig at his flagon of red wine and chewing on chouriço bread. He fixed me with his clear green eyes.

"You crazy or something? Take on another crew member? Julio and me, we're partners and no-one comes between us."

Julio nodded.

"Another ship?" continued Luís. "The Santa Maria is all we need." Julio smiled, showing the gaps in his teeth (perhaps that's why he never spoke) and nodded, a little more vigorously than usual.

Luís had spoken with such finality that I went and sat in the bow - I would never understand these two Portuguese fishermen. And it wasn't even as if I was really a foreigner - I understood these people; I had grown up in Funchal, the only child of a British wine merchant. Come to think of it, I wasn't even sure what I was doing in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean on a fishing boat when all I was supposed to be doing was opening up a branch office in Funchal for the international investment company I worked for in London. It was during a business lunch that I had heard about this fisherman in Camara dos Lobos who had designed a fishing boat that sped over the ocean like a flying fish and nets that caught just the right fish in record time. My financial mind had been piqued and, since I could afford to take a few extra days leave, I had made my way down the coast and met up with them.

In the bow of the Santa Maria, I had drummed my fingers on the side. I had a responsibility to drag these two into the twenty-first century, to help them out of the hardship in which they lived. Their invention which they had unwittingly come up with, would make them rich beyond their wildest dreams. And add a few pennies to my coffers too, of course.

After another half an hour they stopped work. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Luís announced we would be returning home. I got up and stood by him at the wheel.

"Another hour, Luís," I said. "The hold is only half full. Another hour. You'll have twice the load."

He whistled between his teeth for a moment and then turned the full blaze of his eyes on me. "There's just so much fish in the sea," he said. "God has given us this. I will not take them all. There has to be enough for everyone."

Julio nodded.

"Luís," I tried again. "A larger boat, bigger nets."

"Enough," he yelled, pulling fiercely on the wheel which made the boat lurch, and I was left in no doubt that that was the end of the conversation.

I fumed in the bow again. Hopeless, I thought, watching the azure of the water disturbed by a school of dolphins. They didn't deserve my help and, come to think of it, they didn't catch any of those dolphins in their nets either. That was another plus - they could sell those nets all over the world.

And that's why I was not the happiest financial adviser in the world as we stood on the quay beside the Santa Maria. OK, they both had their pockets bulging with escudos but that was Mickey Mouse money.

Luis was peering out to sea.

"The others will be out for at least another two hours and they'll come in with just half of what I have now." His laugh came from the belly.

"That's just the point, Luis," I said, so frustrated that I stamped my foot.

"Ah come on," he said, throwing an arm about my shoulders. "Mario's Bar is awaiting us. They're keeping a seat warm."

I followed them up the steep hill, but I kept to the shade because I was getting sunburnt. Luis was striding ahead, steeped in sunshine, greeting everyone he met.

"Hi, Jorge. How'y doing? Auntie alright, José? Yeah, Antonio's okay, Ana. Sea's good today - he'll be back by three."

It amazed me the number of people he knew - at home in England I didn't even know what my neighbours looked like, let alone speak to them.

The dark interior of the bar was cool and smelled of ingrained tobacco and sugar-cane brandy. Luis propped himself up at the bar, Julio beside him.

"I really mean it," I said. "With those special nets and that hull you've designed you can catch tons of fish a day. Luis. Julio. If you would agree to catch so much a week, you could get firm contracts from companies who would buy the fish. You would be rich. But," I went on relentlessly, ignoring their smirks. "You would have to stay out for longer."

"Stay out for longer?" Luis turned horrified eyes to Julio who shook his head sorrowfully. "But it's nearly lunchtime! And then it's time for siesta. With Maria. I always have a siesta, don't I Julio?"

He nodded.

I gave up.

I should never have started this, of course. These two couldn't recognise a gold-mine even when it jumped up and hit them in the eye. And, judging from their conversation, the momentous decision of the day was whose turn it was to mend the nets.

After a tedious few minutes of, "It's your turn," "No, it's not, it's yours," Julio took a pack of cards out of his pocket.

"It's how we make decisions," Luis explained to me. "Fisherman's lore."

'Oh right,' I thought, 'Of course. You can't make a proper decision so you play cards instead. Very innovative.'

"We cut the cards three times," he went on. "The decision goes to the one who gets the best of three."

I could just see us doing that at our board meetings in London. Can't decide where the next merger will take place, so get the old cards out. Whoever gets the best of three decides if its BP, IBM or Microsoft. I shook my head.

Julio cut first and produced the eight of hearts, then Luis drew the ten of clubs. Luis then pulled out the four of hearts while Julio revealed the jack of diamonds. It depended on the last cut. Julio drew the six of clubs and Luis triumphantly flourished the king of clubs. Decision time! Julio would mend the nets.

Luis was still chuckling as, two beers later, we climbed yet another cobble-stone hill to his house and, halfway up, I stopped and stared at the expanse of glinting ocean. Tiny dots on the horizon testified that the other fishermen were still hauling in the catch out there. And here was Luis about to have his lunch - what a waste.

"Nice view," I said.

"It's what I see every day," said Luis as we turned towards a small cottage, perched amid a banana plantation on the cliff.

"You could build a villa," I said as I beat my way through purple bougainvillaea cascading over the porch.

"If I stayed out another two hours," he mimicked me. "Yeah, yeah. I don't want a villa anyway. No-one would talk to me. They'd think I'd got too grand."

"With a swimming pool."

"I only swim when the boat goes down."

A delicious smell of baking scabbard fish wafted out of the cool interior and Maria was not in the least fazed at Luis having invited me to lunch. In fact she greeted me fondly and I squeezed in at the table where their three children, two dogs and a mother-in-law were squashed in. They were making an almighty racket, the old lady not least. She, dressed in black, had a child wedged on her lap and was hollering some tuneless ditty at it. 'She could go in a home,' I thought. 'A nice one.' I was about to open my mouth to voice my thoughts but, for some reason, thought better of it.

After much toasting the master of the house in local wine, I broached the subject to Maria.

"You'll be rich," I said, munching fish with baked banana.

"We are rich," she said. "We have everything we want. Luis is a respected member of the town - member of the Parish Council."

"He could be Prime Minister of Madeira," I said - I was joking.

"No way," she pooh-poohed. "People draw moustaches on your picture if you're Prime Minister. And say things about you in the paper. And the children would never know a peaceful moment. Do you have children?"

I shook my head, looking at Luis with a child snuggled on each knee. He winked at me and then leapt to his feet, spilling children and honey cake. "Siesta time," he rumbled menacingly. The children fled giggling out the door back to school and mother-in-law shuffled off somewhere. I also stood up. But I had an idea.

"I'll play you," I said before going through the door. "We'll cut the cards and if I win, I'll buy the boat."

There was silence. Even the dogs stopped barking.

Bit of a rash decision, I thought. But there again I prided myself on rash financial decisions - and they usually came out well in the end.

"And if I win?" asked Luis.

I hadn't thought of that. "I'll go back to England. Empty handed."

He pondered. He scratched his belly and thought some more.

'He'll never agree,' I thought.

"Alright," he said slowly. "But not now. It's siesta time. Mario's at eight."

I spent the rest of the day ruminating on what I had done and the more I thought about it, the better it sounded. I would patent the boat's design and also the nets and I would rent out the boat to people who knew how to earn a profit.

I made my usual daily phone call to the office in London to check up on things and, although I don't usually chatter on the phone but because I was so excited, I told one of the partners about my deal. He was silent for a moment.

"John?" I asked. "Are you there?"

"Yes," he replied. "I'm just a little surprised, that's all - it's so unlike you. You're going to cut cards? Anyway," he added quickly. "Enjoy it. A little hobby will do you good."

I couldn't imagine what he was talking about. Hobby? Still, since I had some money left on the phone card, I decided to call my wife at home, just to surprise her. She wasn't there. I phoned her at her office, but her secretary told me she wasn't there either. Oh well.

At eight o'clock sharp I was in Mario's Bar and, to my surprise, so was most of the town's population - the grape-vine did not only yield delicious grapes in this town. A cheer went up as I entered which was invigorating until they cheered even louder when Luis appeared, pausing for effect in silhouette in the doorway. We solemnly shook hands and Julio passed us his pack of cards. Luis indicated for me to cut first.

I drew the nine of hearts.

Luis puffed like a weight lifter, flexed his fingers, took a long swig of his ice-cold beer and cut the pack. The six of diamonds.

"You win," said Luis. "Cut again."

This time, I produced the jack of diamonds. Luis broke the cards and looked at it speculatively before showing it to us - it was the ace of spades. Shouts of "Luis, Luis," were deafening which wasn't quite fair, for I only had his best interests at heart, after all.

"All square," he said. "One more time."

He went through the flexing and swigging routine again until I was sweating freely and then he ran his gnarled thumb down the pack, flicking the cards. He cut.

Luis stared at the card for a long time. "Nine of diamonds," he muttered and there were oohs of defeat all round the bar.

I confidently cut the pack and thumped it down on the table, face down. I'd got him now - and his boat. I looked at everyone around me - all eyes were on the card as I slowly turned it over. Not a breath was expired in the house. I looked at the card and could hardly believe it - seven of clubs. I had lost.

The celebrations were so boisterous, anyone would think he had been saved from a fate worse than death, but in the end, I succumbed. No point in sulking when the wine was on the house - and aguadente is enough to destroy any thoughts a person may have anyway.

The next day my head felt as solid as the dark volcanic rock overhanging the winding road that led to the airport. Luis, as joyous as a canary, had insisted on taking me, together with Maria, the children, dogs, and mother-in-law in his clapped-out van which backfired at every turn taken on two wheels. They were all scoffing queijadas and wiping themselves on my trembling arms.

"We'll miss you in Mario's tonight," said Luis, overtaking on a blind corner.

I closed my eyes and, despite the sludge in my mind, realised that I would miss them as well.

As I kissed Maria goodbye at the airport, she said, wiping her scarlet lipstick from my cheeks, "Give my regards to your wife."

I said I would but I doubted she would even be there when I got home, probably hadn't even noticed I had been away.

Luis's embrace left me breathless. "I have lost," he pronounced in a leaden voice. "I am losing a great friend."

"No," I said. "Don't say that."

He thumped me hard on the back - I can still feel the bruise today.

As my plane was taxiing down the runway I spotted Luis and family waving frantically from the top of the airport building and I shook my head.

Poor Luis. No-one else would give him such a perfect chance to better himself.

'Ah well, that's life,' I thought as I opened the Weekend Financial Times. 'Missed opportunity.'

^