On the fifth day she improved dramatically. They discovered on the hospital scale that she had lost six pounds. She began to get visitors: Henri, then the old Australian, still gaunt and tired. The shy, doe-eyed hippie girl from Star of Peace came with her daughter, the Dutch couple and their little girl, who bore boat-cooked cookies. The island’s native baker brought her a bag of French pastries. Even Jack-the-Rip-Off turned up, to see, he said, if she needed pot.

Jean-Paul came, the last evening she was there. She discovered that she was hurt that he had not come before. On his entrance, the impassive Tiare took life and grinned for the first time. She had perfect teeth, with one perfect gap where a front one was missing. She thawed into motion and began to move swiftly around the room, dusting with a palm frond, her hips rolling as she swept beneath the injured Marquesan’s bed. Jean-Paul might sail with a mahoo, but if there was anything gay about him, the news hadn’t reached Tiare.

He ignored the girl. His eyes, solemn, laughing, concerned, and mischievous, stayed on Lindy. He blamed the fever on Henri’s wine.

When Mitch told him that they were leaving, that they had had it with the Marquesas, he nodded. “So beautiful, and so sinister. The people entirely closed in, like the bay, by the cliffs over it. Not like Tahitians or Tuamotans. You must avoid the Tuamotos. I have dived there with the people for nacre, but even I, with my steel boat, am afraid of their reefs. There you would find the people flat, open, cheerful like their atolls. It is too bad, the reefs, for each little island is a paradise.”

Mitch nodded but said nothing. The doctor came in, and Jean-Paul asked him something in French. The doctor looked surprised, smiled, shook his head, and left, chuckling. When Jean-Paul was ready to leave, Mitch shook his hand and thanked him. Jean-Paul’s eyes widened.

“Mitch, you speak French?”

“A little. And thanks again.”

Jean-Paul passed from the room. Tiare subsided, taking her place at the door and not even helping Mitch gather Lindy’s clothes. Lindy asked him why he was so grateful to Jean-Paul. He moved to the window and looked out over the bay. “We dragged,” he said idly. “Did you know that? Adrian came aboard and helped me set the anchor again.”

Adrian was the young Dutchman. “Is that why you thanked Jean-Paul?”

“No.” He picked up her bag. “Let’s check out, OK?”

The doctor would accept nothing for himself or the hospital.