Chapter 15

The morning was warm and sunny. They woke early, Helen felt rested and calm. She reached for him as she roused.

Later, Sandy jogged down the beach. Helen followed, walking briskly. "I don't like to bounce. It hurts," she had told him. "And I won't wear one of those sports bras — not when I'm bare-ass. That's just silly." She walked briskly for a good two kilometers before turning back toward Heliopolis, and Sandy pulled up beside her.

"Have you been up in the dunes?" he asked.

"Well, just to look at the lake." The Etang de Thau, a shallow, salty inlet, stretches from Agde to Sète, extending the Canal du Midi toward the Rhône river.

"Come on," he said, leading the way.

They walked up the low dune well beyond the camping area. There is a road along the top, with a few grasses and scrubby bushes holding the sand in place on either side. Across the road, the path descended toward the reedy marsh on the other side. Sandy turned toward the left, drawing them into a small stand of low trees and bushes. They could not be seen from the beach or the top of the dune, but the quiet glade was open to the lagoon, where Helen could see a canal boat about 400 meters away motoring slowly off toward Agde.

"Well?" Sandy asked, drawing her to him.

"I see," Helen answered. "You don't mind putting on a show, do you? Not too likely a boat will pass, but there's the chance."

She looked up at him, then sank back in the rough grass, drawing him on top of her. "Lumpy," she said. "Next time, I'm on top."

They came splashing out of the chilly Mediterranean water, having washed away the sand, and headed back.

"You're not getting your work done," Helen said.

"Right now, I'm mostly finished with construction. And it's a little early in the season to be beating the beach for customers. I'm taking it easy. Pretty soon, I'll be hiring some people to pass out brochures on the beaches, and I'll need to be at the store most of the time. And right now, I'm hanging out with the business guys I want to rent space to... But you're not doing any more work than I am."

Helen walked for a moment, looking at the sand, then up at Sandy. "Actually, I'm getting a lot done. I'm really busy. After all, I was away most of last week and this one, remember? Geneva-London-Paris. I am a consultant. That is, I'm in business, but as it happens, I've got a little money and I can work or not as it pleases me." She looked sharply at Sandy. "If I don't feel like working for a few weeks, I can do that. Having said that, one thing that happened in Geneva was a really big project. Next week, I go back there to sign the contracts."

"What sort of project?"

"I'm an architect. I used to do mostly commercial work, but in the last few years, I've been specializing in recreational spaces. My last big job was an indoor-outdoor sauna and spa in the Black Forest. I do a lot of renovations and private installations, too. This latest contract means maybe three big spas in southern Germany."

"Not bad. Means you get to go to Geneva and Paris, and all that." Sandy leered down at her.

Helen shrugged. "My support office is in Paris, my partner is in London, and my new client is in Geneva. The job's in Freiburg, Germany. "I told you I like variety," she took his hand, "especially like what we just did. But I really like my work, too." She looked at him sharply again. "And, I'm good at it."

"As far as I'm concerned, you're good at everything you do."

"Well, thanks. But, at this meeting last week, Sandy, the guy who runs the show, his name's Schellen, wanted me to consider another contractor."

"What's surprising about that? This is Europe, after all."

"Well, it's not surprising, really, and it happens everywhere. But I think the guy he was talking about is in court for failure to perform and for civil fraud."

"Oops! That's weird. Was this Schellen guy serious?"

"He seemed to be. But I told him I wouldn't go there. Our whole deal is design and build with me as contractor."

"Good move."

"I had no choice. That's my policy, and I convinced him I can do the job. But it worries me."

They turned off the beach toward the cafeteria next to the big swimming pool, picking up a light lunch and a bottle of wine, which they took to a table overlooking the beach and the entrance to Port Ambonne harbor. A couple of motor boats were passing through, headed for fun or fishing on the ocean.

The Port Ambonne channel separates the Cap d'Agde beaches. On one side are the normal French beaches where some form of bathing attire is required: bras are rare, and coverage of the bottom varies with the tides of fashion. On the near side, the nudist beach begins, and although there is probably some rule about how far it extends, no one seems to be concerned about that. The beach stretches all the way to where the Sète promontory reaches out into the sea. And though it is a naturist beach, that simply means clothing is optional.

A couple walked by and stopped.

"Helen! Great to see you," the woman said, turning with her companion to approach the table. She was tall, perhaps 45, dark-haired.