“To London? You’re kidding me.”
She said, “No,” and appeared embarrassed by it. “Give me a tour?”
“I’d like that,” said Simon. He touched her cheek and kissed her.
“Promise?” she asked.
“Promise.”
The car crested a rise, and the old port came into view, protected by Fort Saint-Jean and Fort Saint-Nicolas. A very large yacht was entering the harbor, navy-blue with a sharp, proud bow, dwarfing the boats around it.
Frank Mazot looked over his shoulder. “Where to?”
“I’m hungry,” said Simon. “You?”
Nikki nodded. “I could eat. But not a ham and cheese sandwich.”
“Who wants ham and cheese?” said Simon. “How ’bout some bouillabaisse. What do you say, Frank?”
“I know just the place.”
Epilogue
London
Three days later
Finished yet?” asked Simon.
Lucy Brown was crouched beside the Dino, blasting a section of the passenger door with her heat gun. She wore her usual ratty gray coverall, her hair tucked inside a baseball cap. “Finished? You’re not serious?”
“Seven days. That’s plenty of time.”
“Says who? The boss now that he’s—” Lucy’s smile disappeared the moment she saw him. She pulled off her safety goggles and rushed toward him. “What happened to you?”
“I swam with some piranhas,” said Simon.
“Did they break your arm?”
“And collarbone.” He didn’t mention the stitches in his side. “But the other guys got worse.”
“Well,” said Lucy, looking aghast. “If that’s what happens when you travel to France, count me out. I’d rather go to Brighton.”
Simon circled the automobile, running a critical hand across the chassis, now and again checking his fingertips for paint speckles. “You did all of this?”
“I did.”
He eyed her with suspicion. “By yourself?”
Lucy placed her hands on her hips. “I did.”
Simon gave the car a final once-over. “Not bad,” he said, as if he only half meant it.
“Not bad?” Lucy put down her heat gun and scraper. “It’s immaculate.”
“That’s one of my words.”
“Well, is it?”
