RANSVESTIA

"Al," he agreed, "it's cooler out in the harbour."

I glanced at my watch and then at Romy. She was downright angry at Brennan Lawrence for his invitation. "You have a plane to catch," she said deliberately, not looking at me, as her long, thick lashes brushed the soft skin below her eyes.

"Yes," I said. "But I'll take you up on that drink, Mr. Lawrence." I gave Romy a smile as she flashed her green eyes angrily at me.

There was a strained smile on Lawrence's face as we headed towards the launch from the Beau Sejour. There were two other people, a thickset, paunchy man and a slim brunette with ample breasts and very photogenic-in Francois' pictures at least. They were very amiable, and it was only when we were halfway out to the Beau Sejour that I realized that Brennan Lawrence had introduced me, and correctly identified my paper, to Georges Panetta and Lisa Ford.

"You know who I work for," I murmered to him, as the others were gawking at an ocean-going yacht that was just arriving, to consider- able fanfare, with a bevy of pretty girls hanging over the rails of its sundeck.

"Oh, yes," Lawrence was startled. "I heard about you this morning."

I wasn't able to follow that up right away as the others returned to the conversation. I was floored when we arrived at Lawrence's yacht by the reception he received from a young, blonde woman. She greeted him as if he were a long-lost survivor of a shipwreck or some- thing, kissing and hugging him warmly to the amusement of my companions.

"My wife, Adelie," Brennan Lawrence said to me shyly, his arms about her waist. I was clearly going to have to revise my opinion of him and fast. "This is Al Evans, darling, a journalist from the United States."

Adelies's smile was bright. "Enchante de fair votre connaissance, monsieur," she spoke rapidly, with a Germanic accent.

"Adelie speaks only French and German," Brennan Lawrence was apologetic, "but she understands English."

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