It was either the dresses or the intention to have fun, but from the moment we left the store, eyes followed us appreciatively wherever we passed. I collected the looks like gold shillings and felt like a million dollars by the time we made it back to the bars and restaurants along the quayside. We headed for where Rod and Chef were sitting at a café, so we could ask them to take our shopping bags back to the boat.

A loud wolf whistle pierced the air, making both Andrea and me jump and drawing even more eyes. In the same instant I realized it came from Rod.

“Gorgeous, ladies!”

“God, Rod. You are such a builder,” complained Andrea. “Can’t a girl walk down the street without being harassed?”

“You love it. Now come here and sit with us two geezers and make us look good.”

Chef chuckled at Rod’s antics, and I was glad to see they actually did seem to get along.

“Sorry, lads. We can’t. Josie and I are off to the nightclub. Les Caves.”

“Did you get enough to eat?” intervened Chef, like a gruff dad.

“We had crepes,” Andrea assured him. “Anyway, take our shopping, would you? I’ve texted Evan, but let him know you saw us and we’re fine, and if we’re not home by one a.m., would one of you come looking for us?”

“After midnight?” sputtered Rod. “What about my beauty sleep?”

“God knows, he needs it,” Chef muttered.

“Oi.”

“Boys, boys. Rod, you’re always up late. Yes or no?”

“Yes. Fine. Why can’t we come with you?”

Andrea laid a hand on Rod’s sandy hair. “Next time, yeah?” Then she grabbed my arm and we waved goodbye as we left them.

Tucked into a corner behind a row of restaurants off the main port was a small dark doorway flanked by two palms and a red rope with brass fittings. There was a line that snaked around the corner into the alley. A wide man with square shoulders, shaved head, and a non-existent neck stepped out of the darkness. His face was set in a hard scowl.

“Umberto!” Andrea greeted, and he burst into a grin that transformed him from scary mother fucker to ball of sugar.

They fired a string of greetings at each other in … “You speak Italian?” I asked Andrea. “That’s Italian, right?”

Andrea shrugged bashfully. “I know a few words. This is Umberto. Umberto, this is Josie. Dauphine’s nanny.”

“Of course.” He smiled and shook my hand. “And you, my dear. You are also bellissima, like my Andrea! Come in, come in!” He unhooked the heavy rope and ushered us past him, and we stepped into a dim and quiet vestibule where a heavy base beat was barely audible.

“How do you know the bouncer? I thought you didn’t party much,” I asked.