Finally, he had the courage to face her.

"Yes."

"Really a good one? Hot?"

He had to smile. "Yeah, hot. They're all hot, but some are hotter." This made him go into a giggling fit, which soon had both of them in another mood altogether.

"Could I see?"

"What?"

"Steve, I asked you if I could see."

"You mean. you mean.?"

"Yes."

"You mean, right here? Here in the car? Here in the back of the car? Won't Maurice. won't he.?"

"No, darling," she said before catching herself. She'd called him darling. That was how she was beginning to think of him.

Steve sat up and moved away from her slightly, not into the corner as he felt like doing, but just far enough to put some space between them.

"No," he replied, not looking at her directly, but looking past her, out the window opposite. "Not here, Melissa. It would be altogether too messy."

"Very well. So we'll go home. I don't want you to catch a cold with wet clothing on."

They both roared with laughter.

So this was the beginning, and a very promising one, indeed. As Maurice guided the beautiful car around the curves of the Cote d'Azur, passing through the outskirts of Nice, Steve marveled at the abundance of olive trees, sea pines, familiar umbrella pines and Mediterranean Aleppo pines. Magnificent eucalyptus trees were all over the broad avenues, standing singly or in groups in parks and private gardens.

After Nice came Cap Ferrat, then Juan-les-Pins, the road to Cap d'Antibes, Grasse, and finally Cannes, the world-famous resort frequented by millionaires and celebrities, bums and musicians, students and tourists of every description, from every corner of the globe.

At the entrance to the chateau, Maurice parked the limousine. In the rear, Melissa had arranged her clothing properly. She and Steve had checked the front of his pants to see if there was any evidence of his release. There wasn't. This made the youth feel much more comfortable.