They had switched on the emergency locator beacon transmitter in the chopper. Sooner or later a high-flying commercial airliner or a ship passing near these islands would pick up the signal and would come to investigate. But in the meantime there were rations aboard the helicopter, more aboard the launch, and there were a dozen varieties of fruit on the island. In the duffle bag Gabrielle had brought from the ship were a half-dozen bottles of excellent champagne.
Carter had slept for several hours, and when he awoke late in the night, they had eaten and talked.
The French police had come out to the islands a few years ago looking for Gabrielle… or so Rondine had convinced her.
She had been hidden, and when the investigator left, Rondine had told her that more than ever before her life belonged to him.
"it was Albert or prison in France," she said.
Carter slept again, the pain subsiding somewhat, although he still did not wear trousers.
He was dreaming about the pain and about another sensation that was a cross between pain and pleasure when he awoke in the morning.
Gabrielle looked up, a smile on her lips. "Does it hurt, Nick?" she asked.
"I haven't decided yet," he said, wondering if it would break the mood for him to ask her to turn off the emergency transmitter in the helicopter…