Sitting back on my chaise lounge in our shady corner of the pool area, I opened my copy of Vanilla Orchid Magic and got back to the story. Nora had just boarded the small six-passenger plane. “Put these on,” said an older woman wearing a nurse’s uniform. She handed me a bright pink sundress and a pair of underpants. I took off my bathrobe and handed it to her before I pulled the sundress over my head modestly and wiggled out of my nightgown. She held out her hand, waiting. A moment later, she passed my nightclothes to the French policeman. “Jean-Claude, you must get going. You have an appointment with death.” “What?” I cried. I looked up at the man holding the door of the plane and once again our eyes met. That spark between us ignited once more and I felt a passion that seemed to possess me with electrifying results. “Aren’t you coming with us?” “I cannot, ma chérie. I must go, lest Alain thinks you survived the crash I am about to have.” “But...must you die?”
