“I’m just saying you might want to get out of town, Mrs. Randolph. That’s all I’m saying. Get the devil out of Nassau, and maybe take with you whatever you care about.”

“What’s happening?” I said. “What have you heard?”

Jack straightened up and glanced at the doorway. “Just that someone’s at the end of his rope, that’s all. And there’s a lot of fools swinging on that rope, you know what I mean? A lot of fools.”

“Fools like me?”

There was a commotion taking shape on the opposite side of the room, near the doorway where Jack had just glanced. He gave me a last look and stepped away, straightening his waistcoat, to nudge his colleague at the glassware. I tipped back my glass—it was a thirsty afternoon, all right—and reached for my pocketbook to rummage out a cigarette. As I did so, I contrived a sweep of the room beyond my shoulder. But it was only Freddie de Marigny and his cousin Georges de Visledou, laughing over some joke. I turned away and lit my cigarette.

“Why, Mrs. Randolph!”

“Freddie. How nice.”

The stool beside me scraped back a few inches. De Marigny’s long body took possession. He laid a palm on the counter and made some gesture to Jack with the other hand. His cousin Georges made me a salute and reached for an ashtray.

“How’s married life?” I asked.

“A bit lonely, at the moment. Nancy is in Vermont for the summer, learning to dance.”

“To dance? Doesn’t she already know how?”

“I mean real dancing. This famous dancer is teaching her, this Miss Graham. You’ve heard of her? It’s a retreat of some kind.” He paused to light a cigarette. “Nancy doesn’t like the heat so much.”

“Why don’t you join her?”

“Because I have business interests, Mrs. Randolph. I’m a working man. Anyway, I don’t want to spend the summer dancing. Georges, now.” He nudged the other man with his elbow, and Georges, who had been staring around the room, idling his cigarette, made a start. “Georges, you good-for-nothing. Why haven’t you made some escape from this inferno, like Nancy?”

Georges looked at me and then the floor. Turned around to scrabble for the ashtray. His cheeks were pink. He was a handsome devil, all right: strong Gallic looks, dark shiny hair.

Freddie just laughed and leaned toward me. “My dear cousin has an amour, you see. That’s why he stays here. But what’s your excuse, Mrs. Randolph? This column of yours? Or something more interesting, like Georges here?”

“Habit, I guess. I don’t mind the heat so much.”