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little puppies, each one pushing to the front to be the favorite.
    She addressed them again. “Okay, check your equipment.” Two other men, Pierre Duval, the archaeologist, and the captain, Yves, came up from the cabin to watch the final preparations, and Hely gave them their instructions. “Pierre, we won’t be needing you. There’ll be no pretty statues this time. This one will be for jewelry, and on that wreck there should be enough to . . .”
    Johnny picked up her unfinished sentence. “To sink a ship.”
    Hely’s clear, clean laugh would have charmed a country club. “That’s right, Johnny, that’s right. This is the big one. What extraordinary luck. Think of it. A few minutes after midnight on New Year’s Eve. They would all be together in the main dining room, wearing their silly hats, rattling noisemakers, and throwing streamers and confetti at each other, joining arms and singing ‘Auld Lang Syne.’ ” Her voice drifted off and arms again wandered to the distant hulk. “Gala night. Black ties, long dresses. And fat old bags wearing their once-a-year finest, rings, necklaces, bracelets, all the prizes their dull little husbands paid for in ulcers. All we have to do is go and collect.”
    Roland’s protesting hand fell feebly from her arm as she took three quick steps towards the neatly stacked wet suits and equipment. She flipped off her bikini top and, palms on thighs, slid her shorts to the deck as though she were the only person on the entire ocean. Every man there watched in silence, and noticed the slim scarf of untanned white between the oak-brown back and legs. If she sensed the silence, she gave no indication of it, and continued her briefing.
    “We will approach the ship from the opposite side of that freighter and descend to the level of the dining room. Inside, we must all work quickly.”
    One of the divers asked, “Will we need spear guns?”
    Hely curtly replied, “No. And don’t waste time on junk. You all know decent pieces when you see them. Necklaces first, then brooches, bracelets, and rings.” She stooped to pick up her wet suit.
    The excitement she had engendered amongst the divers was almost an audible hum. A boy of eighteen who only six months earlier had been expelled from his English public school exchanged winks with a young Frenchman, who then mimed a silent whistle. Johnny, arrested in some discomfort with his arms halfway through the straps of his oxygen kit, contemplated a delightful future. The already discomfited Roland had been rendered speechless by her display of nonchalant sexuality, and it was only the whispered reactions of the men beside him that jolted him, so that he interrupted her with hissing urgency, “For God’s sake, Hely, can’t you change in the cabin?”
    He regretted it the moment she turned her head and he saw the coolly amused eyes through the thistledown hair. “Roland thinks I’m upsetting you boys. Are there any complaints?” For Roland’s benefit, she indicated their whooped denials and half cheers with a tilt of her head, and stepped into her wet suit. She rolled it up without hurry and was zipping up the front when she faced Roland and resumed. “Roland, darling, I’m worried. I’m beginning to think there’s just the faintest aroma of chicken about you, mon amour. And now you seem ashamed to let people see me.”
    Roland tried for a cheery grin that emerged more as a wince. Johnny thought, He’s cracking.
    Roland said, “Hasn’t it occurred to you that you are corrupting these more or less decent young men?”
    Hely picked up her oxygen cylinders and looped the first strap over her arm. She replied, “Oh yes, I know that, Roland. But isn’t it fun? Well, isn’t it, boys?”
    Johnny led the cheering that greeted her question as Hely went on, “But don’t come if you don’t want to, Roland. Perhaps little Bobby here will hold my hand if I get nervous.”
    The young Englishman started at the sound of his name. He