Jean-Paul shrugged. “I think not. It is only that his hands cannot lie. But he is frightened to keep it.”

Mitch accepted it and they stepped back through the watertight door. He moved past the galley into the main salon. He froze.

Lounging on a transom berth, rolling a joint as Taarii opened a porthole, was Mahura. Her uniform coat was off and her Air France shirt was unbuttoned halfway to the waist. She blew the hair out of her eyes and smiled up at them.

“I have smuggle a lid through the goddamn douane," she exulted. “But the flight, full of tourists like geese—" She stared at the carving joyously. “C’est moi?"

Time stopped. Taarii turned slowly from the porthole and his eyes grew large. Lindy raised the cup of coffee to her lips; the motion seemed to last forever. She sensed something wrong and her eyes met Mitch’s. He could only shake his head. He was watching Mahura.

“C’est moi?” Mahura asked again, reaching out her hand. Mitch, helpless, put the carving on the counter, out of her reach. She jumped up, flashing the heart-stopping smile at Jean-Paul. “When have you done this? Mais je suis jolie!"

Jean-Paul put a hand on her arm. “Ce n’est pas fini!”

“Mais non, c’est joli! Je suis contente”

His voice lashed out. “Arrêtez!”

She stopped short, looking up at him curiously. “Why? When it is me, n’est-ce pas?”

“Not as you are!”

She freed her arm, picked up the figure and studied it. Suddenly she grew rigid. She moved closer to the light and stood, head down, tracing the lines on the face and the breasts. She turned to Jean-Paul, eyes full of tears.

“Pourquoi? Why have you do this to me?"

Jean-Paul’s eyes were steady. The two stood, swept in moving light and shadow from the swaying lamp.

“Non!” Taarii cried suddenly. He jabbed a thumb at his chest. “C’est moi qui l’ai sculptee.”

“C’est vrai?” she asked Jean-Paul.

He nodded. Her eyes went hard. For an instant her face made the carving come true. She hurled the piece at Taarii. It missed, bounced from the back of the settee, and clattered to the deck.

Taarii picked it up. His face twisted, he offered the carving to Mitch. Mitch shook his head. Taarii moved to the porthole. For an instant he played his fingers along the grain of the figure. Then he flung it through the port. Mitch heard it slam against Linda Lee and splash into the tide.

“How much were you to pay?” Mahura spat at Mitch. She glared at Lindy, who looked like a startled doe. “Eh bien, Lindy. If you would mock me now, you must swim.” She jerked her chin at Jean-Paul. “And that one, you can have!”

“Mahura,” Lindy begged, “I don’t even understand.”