“Tropez 22. First though, Bertrand had to go back to his room for the binoculars. He did not take the cape, simply tucked the binoculars under his arm as out of sight as possible. The barman gave him a wave as he trotted across the hall and down the front steps with Pirate limping excitedly next to him. He headed along the same path Little Laureen had taken. It led to the beach which he knew would be deserted at this time of night and he quickened his pace. When he got to where the path ra...n down the gentle incline to the sand, he put the binoculars round his neck, opened up their metal “lids” and focused on the dinghy. It was still tied to the jetty. He quickly scanned the horizon for the sailboat. It was lit up, flags flying, and its name was Blue Picasso. Next he scanned the beach. There was no sign of Laureen. Pirate pulled on his lead, snuffling in the grass above the cove, and Bertrand followed, up the small incline, letting the dog take him where he wanted. The cool night air was pure, breathing it felt like drinking clear spring-water, and around the point the lights of St.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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