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In '98, undeterred by our Italian
experiences and near-murder, Wolf was full of romance again. This time, he
said, it would be different. He would show me 'Sunset over the Med'. The
med! Nice, stories by Colette and those other French writers, Somerset
Maugham and so on! My literary heart missed a |
beat! Bolero bus went that
way, on its route to Spain. We could get off at Narbonne. Fine. We had
survived the visit of my Cuban penfriend from Miami, and did not yet know
that she would return in September to become a permanent part of our
lives. But the Med held more than we bargained for! |