Petit St Vincent. Rare are the moments in life when, given the chance, you wouldn't change a thing. By John Briley/ Sept. 2003 But that is exactly how my fiancée, Cathleen, and I feel stretched out on chaises on the patio of our PSV cottage, gazing at an emerald lagoon as an eastern breeze caresses us into a state of pure relaxation. Between us sits a tea service delivered by one of the island's staff, which outnumbers guests two to one. The cottages have no phones, so we made our request by raising a yellow flag on the pole out front. It's a private paradise, this 113-acre retreat in the southern Grenadines. Our panorama includes a slope of oleander and yellow allamanda, fragments of beach framed by palm trees and, when we tilt our heads and squint, three of the island's 21 other guest cottages. Most are beachfront, but ours is among the handful nestled into hillsides or on bluffs overlooking the ocean. These are the only guest lodgings on the island, which was bought by Haze Richardson in 1965 for, he says, "less than the cost of a Mercedes." Richardson and architect Arne Hasselquist designed the cottages and the open-air dining pavilion with intimacy in mind, which explains why the only life we ever see from our patio are the Carib grackles and yellow bananaquits. " I hadn't built a thing in my life before this." Richardson says. Apparently he's a quick learner: His attention to detail earned PSV a designation from Andrew Harper's Hideaway Report as one of the world's top 20 small resorts. It's easy to see why. The cottages are constructed of beautifully colored purpleheart and greenheart wood, imported from Guyana, and local blue bitch stone. Inside, stone archways separate the living area from a huge bedroom furnished with two queen beds and a pair of wicker chairs. Woven rugs soften the tiled terra cotta floors, and ceiling fans gently stir the air with breezes fresh from the ocean. Views from the sun deck are magnificent. Candlelit tables give the restaurant a romantic feel, but we're in search of privacy, so we settle into a charming alcove off the main dining room. Much as we want it to ourselves, we're only too happy to share the space with plates of bonita braised in olive oil, lobster out of the shell and homemade ginger ice cream. PSV's sublime menu features local seafood as well as meat imported from a top New York butcher, further proof that Richardson and his wife, Lynn, have, in fact, thought of everything. Yes, everything. "You could spend a week here without your clothes on and no one would know," says Lynn. We successfully test the theory, raising our red flag (PSVese for "do not disturb") to sip Mount Gay rum on the patio in the altogether. The next day we amble to the island's west end, where 13 palapas line the beach. Each is hemmed by a jungle of trees and holds a hammock, two lounge chairs and a lunch table. The sand looks like white butter, the water like Tanqueray splashed with lime. When lunchtime comes we mosey to a nearby flagpole, fill out a menu and raise the yellow flag. Within 30 minutes a waiter arrives at our palapa with barracuda sandwiches served on porcelain plates, fresh fruit and rum punches. We dine, undisturbed, to the sounds of the sea washing onto the sand. There is plenty to do here – snorkeling, sailing, walking PSV's 2-mile perimeter of empty beaches – and we sample much of it. But our favorite moments are those spent in the rare luxury of doing nothing in particular: drinking freshly brewed coffee on the patio; strolling by moonlight, wine glasses in hand; and drifting off to sleep in our private hideaway, the sighing wind reassuring us that, given the chance, we wouldn't change a thing.