“Welcome to my humble abode,” Jean-Paul said. Before we reached the dock, a manservant in a white jacket appeared and made fast our boat. Jean-Paul jumped out and helped me ashore.

“A slight calamity, Pierre,” he said. “Run and fetch a towel and one of my dressing gowns for milady. The light blue to go with her eyes, I think.” He took my hand and led me toward the house. “Go to the bathroom. Take off your things and Pierre will make them as good as new in an instant,” he said.

“Oh, no, really, that’s not necessary,” I protested. “I’ll drip all over your lovely floor. I’m really not far to the villa where I’m staying. I could just walk home.”

“Absolutely not,” Jean-Paul said firmly. “You cannot return home in that state. If you do, there will be questions asked. You will tell them the truth and instantly there will be three tigresses trying to get at Sir Toby’s throat. This is not wise. Sir Toby is not a nice person. You do not wish to make an enemy of him. My advice is to let Pierre repair your clothing and pretend that nothing has happened. And as for my floor—marble can withstand any number of drips. So this way to the nearest bathroom.”

He led me across the floor of a large sunroom with a bright tiled floor, wicker chairs and striped cushions. Beyond I could see more ornate rooms with paintings and objets d’art to rival Sir Toby’s. A door was opened for me to a bathroom large enough to hold an orchestra. Pierre reappeared with the dressing gown and a huge fluffy towel with a crest embroidered on it. Jean-Paul closed the door for me. “Take your time,” he said. “Put your wet clothes outside the door, then enjoy a bath or a shower.”

I did as he suggested, pouring a bath almost large enough to swim in and indulging in some heavenly scented bath salts. As I lay there I considered the fact that Jean-Paul might settle down one day and what it would be like to be the Marquise de Ronchard. The thought didn’t entirely displease me. Then I dried with the fluffy towel and put on the blue silk dressing gown. He was right. It did match my eyes. Cautiously I opened the bathroom door and ventured out. Jean-Paul had been sitting waiting for me and sprang up.

“Voilà. You look magnifique. Come—Pierre has been working a miracle as usual. I have told him to prepare lunch. You must be starving after such drama and your courageous dive to safety.”