Who could refuse a two-week stay in a chateau perched on the edge of the Mediterranean? Certainly not Richard, who was already indebted to his Sorbonne roommate for the most carefree two years of his life. Now Tom was begging him to babysit a treasure-filled museum while he and his bride honeymooned in Spain. The vandals who had been plaguing the place wouldn't dare return, and surely the repairmen Tom scheduled were trustworthy. La Napoule was reputed to be so sleepy and safe that the residents forgot their own word for murder. Then there was the beach. Richard imagined himself meeting a woman–a gorgeous, spoiled party-girl type just full of surprises. He should go. He really should. He was dying for a vacation.