If it had changed while I was still laid up I could have missed getting the gaff into him. But it didn’t, and I did. I’d sent word to the bonne at the Villa Parfumée that I’d been called away on business, then rented a room in Cannes near the office of the dentist who was going to rearrange my teeth. Driving back and forth to Mougins with three cracked ribs would have been no pleasure. Besides, if I had let the bonne see my face as it looked for a couple of weeks she’d have told Reggie I’d been brawling in her absence and got me a chewing out. I let Stefi see my face at its worst, while it still looked like a stuffed ripe eggplant. It served her right. If it hadn’t been for her—but I’d only be conning myself to blame her for the beating. I’d asked for it when I stepped between Odile and the jail André wanted to send her to. I told Stefi and anyone else who asked that I’d fallen off a roulette wheel. If they didn’t believe me, it was their privilege.
