Paris

Kuzuhiro Togami leaned back in his seat and sighed in contentment. The tour was everything it promised, worth every yen of the small fortune it was costing. He could almost forgive his wife for the months of nagging it had taken her to get him to agree to the trip.

Earlier that night they had eaten at La Tour d'Argent, at a window table with a direct view of Notre Dame. He looked forward to telling his cronies at the golf club about the wonderful food and even more spectacular wines.

The night before, the group had visited the Lido. His golfing partners would find his descriptions of the virtually naked women in the revue as impressive as the vintage of La Tour d'Argent's bordeaux.