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contempt with which she viewed them or, for that matter, any man she had ever met. Hely had come a long way, but she still had a long way to go.
    “I wish you wouldn’t wear that, Hely.” Roland’s hesitant request had the faint whine that she had heard so often; sprawled face down on the deck, she did not trouble to turn her head to reply. Instead, she continued to admire the ring on her finger with the diamond the size of an almond. She splayed her fingers and bent her wrist so that the sun caught each shining facet in turn.
    “And where do you suggest I should wear it, my love? Outside the headquarters of the Sûreté perhaps? In Cartier’s? This is the only place I can wear it.”
    Roland dropped to his haunches beside her. It was his yacht, she was his girl, but still he could not strike the pleading tone from his voice. “I can still see them, those poor people in that boat.” He shuddered. “Doesn’t it bother you at all, the thought of that foolish-looking woman floating in front of her dressing-table mirror and the husband still at the wheel?”
    Hely lowered her sparkling hand and looked at him. “Was it my fault they were dead? The yacht was listed as missing. We were just lucky to run across it, that’s all.”
    Roland went on, “Her other jewels, the ones we sent to Marseilles, could have finished us. That inquiry came much too close.”
    Hely ignored him. “I love it!” she cried, raising the diamond to her lips. “I love it, I love it!” A smile sliced across her fine-boned face. “But my poor little Roland? Is he frightened of being a naughty boy then? Is he frightened of being caught playing with the big girls?”
    She ceased the mocking irony of the nursery. “Or perhaps it’s simply that you no longer find me exciting. Tell me, my lord and master, is that it?” She stirred gently, like a waking cat, and her half-amused eyes saw Roland watching. He would see the ash-blond drape of her hair across the deck, the clean planes of her face, the easy curve of her coppered limbs, and he would crawl. They always did.
    “Well, is that it, Roland? Have you found someone else, someone who doesn’t make you be a naughty boy?”
    No more than two yards away, the five young men busily sorting out scuba equipment had followed every word, and they mutely acknowledged the nuances of the conversation with winks and grimaces. Roland, acutely aware of their chiding presence, looked anxious as he tried to whisper his reply, “You know better than that, Hely. But please listen to me this time. This one is too dangerous. Half the world will be watching soon. We can sail now, and I’ll buy you the finest dinner in Athens.”
    Hely jackknifed to her feet. “There was a time when a good meal could have bought me, but that was long before you, my love. The price is higher now. Today, that’s it over there.”
    She pointed to the dark, lifeless shape of the Poseidon clearly defined against the sunlight about a mile distant. Businesslike, she brushed past Roland and addressed herself to the young men scattered around the deck. Each one was in some stage of heaving on diving gear.
    “Ready, boys?”
    Johnny, the most experienced diver, said, “Yep,” cheerfully accepting her authority. He was, he reckoned, running Roland close second in Hely’s estimation. She was getting sick of Roland. Soon he would go, and Johnny was all too ready to move in. If that cost him his job, there were plenty more seas for a good scuba man. He shot her his winner’s grin.
    “Ready for anything with you, Hely.” He was gratified to see that his impudent ambiguity was recognized with a slight smile. Any day now, Johnny, he told himself. His confidence and Roland’s unease registered with each of the men, and to each it carried the same message: everyone is in with a chance. For Hely, it was a game she had played many times, encouraging, discouraging, a pat here, a slap down there.
    She thought, God, but aren’t they like