None of the tables seemed to communicate with the others. She felt let down and unwelcome. The room was unbearably hot. Henri was right: the beer was warm. The music slowed. The flat, plaintive island chant and the cheerful clinking of the spoons on glass became more quiet. A handsome Polynesian, very drunk, was dancing sedately with an American girl from one of the boats. She looked bored.

One of the French officers caught Lindy’s eye. If she held his gaze, she was sure he would offer them a seat; on the other hand, he might want to dance and her feet hurt. So she let her glance wander to the French sailors’ table. That was worse; a slavering youngster, no older than Tony, pushed his chair backward, started for her, chickened out, and headed for the door. In a moment, through the open window, she could see him urinating on a coconut tree.

She was out of it all and reluctant to dive in. Perhaps, after thirty days at sea, you built a barrier against loneliness that was hard to dismantle. She felt like asking Mitch to buy a case of the beer and going back to the boat.

And then Jean-Paul stepped through the wooden door. He swept the crowd with deep-blue eyes and looked into her own.

Her stomach soared and settled. She went warm and liquid. Her cheeks turned hot. It had happened when she first met Mitch, and never, really, since. She wanted to laugh, and cry.

“Lindy?” she heard Mitch say, as if from a distance. “Hey, kid!”

“Um?” she asked, coming back.

“I said, let’s sit on the window sill.”

She ripped her eyes from the shimmering blue.

“Yeah, oh, great,” she said.

She wished she had worn a dress.

Mitch sat, legs swinging from the window sill, with his beer on the ledge between them, watching the blackbearded man limp across the room. He was very, very French. A huge empty wine jug dangled from his finger. Mitch had not missed the impact of the blue eyes on Lindy. Maybe, after a month at sea with a man she had slept with for twenty years, a woman was as vulnerable as any other sailor. He was a little amused, but not flattered.