“Ah, Miss Bristol. Your guest is here.”

He stepped off his perch and found a place at the back of, and under, the carriage to stow my canvas bag.

“Thank you,” I said.

He smiled, revealing a gold eyetooth. “My name is Samuel, sir. I work for Sir Harry. If you need anyt’ing, ask.”

“Thanks, Samuel,” I said, and held out my hand and he seemed pleased to shake it. Then I drew back the carriage’s red curtain and helped Miss Bristol into the backseat. It was the closest I’d gotten to her so far, and it damn near made me giddy.

I settled in beside her, put my suitcoat in my lap. “If you don’t mind my saying, you smell fresher than all the flowers in Nassau. Particularly since, the way this weather’s hit me, I sure don’t.”

She laughed a little, but took the compliment well. “My sin,” she said.

“Pardon?”

When she turned to me, the wide straw hat brim brushed my forehead. “It’s a perfume: My Sin. That’s one of the blessings of living here…bargain price on imported scent.”

Taking a right onto the left side of the road, British-style, the carriage clip-clopped onto Bay Street, which ran parallel to the oceanfront and appeared to be the town’s chief thoroughfare and shopping district. Along the tree-lined street, curio shops peddled more straw hats, shells (conch and turtle), and pickaninny dolls, out of old stone buildings with tiny storm-shuttered windows and overhanging tiled verandas that shaded shoppers. The frequent supporting pillars made me think of horse-hitching posts, which perhaps was how they were still used, from time to time. This Old West touch was offset by the modern, official-looking gilt lettering of registered companies whose offices lurked above the stores-accountants, lawyers, merchants, insurance and real-estate agents, import-export companies….

Miss Bristol seemed amused as I took this all in. “Everyone want an office on Bay Street, Mr. Heller. This is where the money in Nassau is.”