The women excused themselves and left us on the patio.

“You dog,” Richard said. “You’re not going to say that this isn’t what it looks like.”

“No, I’m afraid it’s exactly what it looks like. A goddamn train wreck.”

“The daughter? How old is she? Twenty-five?”

“Twenty-two.”

“What about the mother?” he asked.

“What about the mother?”

“She’s beautiful, in case you hadn’t noticed. And she knows?”

“Yes.”

Richard whistled. “To the French,” he toasted.

“I’m an idiot,” I said.

“Well, I don’t know.”

“Take my word,” I said.