‘I am being most foolish,’ she told herself, as they made their way through the winding streets of Marseilles, ‘Lord Mountjoy has gone to the Consulate with the Marquis. He will not have taken the trouble to follow me. Besides, I have Pete with me and he would not dare to make a move whilst he is by my side.’
Her thoughts were interrupted by Pete, shouting at her from the other side of the street, “Here, Jean. Look at these.”
Pete was standing outside a boulangerie that was piled high with loaves of every shape and description. He was pointing to a tray of pastries that were baked in the shape of small boats.
“They are called navettes,” she explained, “which means little boats.”
“Can you go inside and buy a couple for me?” asked Pete, diving into his pocket for some coins. “I think I h
