At that very moment, a shadowy figure ran up to us and flung a fistful of what smelled like rotten fish at Nigel, I was collateral damage. Another guy ran up, and swearing in French, flung a second wad of goo.
Nigel took it in his stride. “Jump back on the boat, love. I’ll lead them away.” He turned and sprinted down the road with the fish-flingers in hot pursuit.
I leaped from the seawall to the empty dinner boat managing to get my high heeled feet on the deck while grasping the horizontal safety rope with both hands. My feet slipped and the weight of my butt pulled me off balance. I dangled from the ropes with my nose pressed against the germy hull.
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