A torchlit floor show was in progress, enlivened by the clatter of fractured castanets. Three teenage girls with thin arms and amazing busts were cavorting together on a central mat wearing big fixed smiles and little leather thongs. Waiting on the sidelines they had a monkey; for what purpose, I refuse to speculate. At tables around the room dark figures with glassy faces drank overpriced liquor while they watched the show, from time to time exuding desultory cries.

A short stout hostess loomed at us in off-the-shoulder violet gauze, slashed from the waist to reveal a yard of varicose-veined leg. Her transparent attire made me long to see less of her not more, as she demanded with a remnant of tired allure, “Bang on my tambourine, centurion?”

Before I could stop her, the senator’s daughter rapped briskly, “Don’t cramp my style; his highness is with me!”

The woman revived at this exotic hint. (I revived slightly myself.)

“Ooh! It’s two little gold pieces—or four if you bring your own girl.” The man outside had charged me more than that, but I suppose both he and the monkey wanted a cut.

“Corkage!” marvelled Helena; I was shocked. Women exchanging ribaldry are so coarse.

“Don’t be so unladylike! Hades, we were followed. Fine pickle you’ve lured me into here—”

A phalanx of bulky shapes came sliding in through the entrance behind us with ominous intent. Protests from the doorman indicated they had not paid his fee; once they laid hands on us they were not intending to stay.

My companion muttered to her new friend, “This clown’s crossing his legs—is there a…”

“Out the back, dear—”

“Come on, Falco, I’ll take you!”

She pulled me straight across the floor show. Hardly anyone noticed. Those that did, thought we were part of it—as for one ludicrous moment we were. A writhing young amazon with no sense of direction backed into Helena’s arms; she passed her to me like an unwanted bread roll. I gave the girl a smacking kiss, regretted it (she tasted of sweat and garlic—only to be borne when you taste of the same), then I positioned her tidily on the nearest table where she disappeared under the lecherous clutch of a group of happy Corsicans who could not believe their luck. Rival foreign parties roared with jealousy. The table toppled over, pulling down a curtain to reveal some citizen’s white backside rising like the Moon Goddess as he did his anxious duty by a maiden of the house; the poor rabbit froze in mid-thrust, then went into eclipse. A cheer went up. Helena giggled: “Hail and Farewell!”